She stepped onto the landing and tried to see. Before her eyes were accustomed to the dark, the heavy breathing of the two men seeped into her like a narcotic. She lay weakly against the wall.
The breathing had ceased for half a second before she opened her eyes. Through the final screech of the bulging door she heard Higgins’ voice.
“Footprints!”
He and Cub were through the hole and halfway up the narrow, winding stairway. She could see Higgins’ match ahead as she scrambled through the jagged panelling.
The steps were high and horrible. She lost all light when Higgins rounded the turn. When she staggered up, again, Higgins had his hand upon a knob and was ordering, in the heavy darkness:
“Stand over there, Sterling!” and then, “It opens out and is....”
He turned the knob, and a rush of yellow sunlight filled the twisting stairs. They pushed on into it. The last three steps extended past the cupola door and into the octagonal room.
Higgins, Cub and Sally stood upon these steps and looked.
Their gray, brown and violet eyes mirrored beside the white medicine case, a raised glass in hand, the counterpart of Cub Sterling ... gone insane.
The late afternoon sun played upon the bushy hair, upon the similar, yet dissimilar faces. It caught each feature, as it catches mountain crags and emphasized it. The same white coat, the same carriage, but not the same eyes.