Better to burn the cord. I searched for a match to touch fire to it-I heard Braile's step at the door and
thrust it hastily in my trousers' pocket.
"What do you want?" I called.
"Just want to see you get into bed all right."
He opened the door a trifle. What he wanted to discover, of course, was whether I had locked it. I said
nothing, and went on undressing.
My bedroom is a large, high-ceilinged room on the second floor of my home. It is at the back of the
house, adjoining my study. There are two windows which look out on the little garden. They are framed
by the creeper. The room has a chandelier, a massive, old-fashioned thing covered with prisms-lusters I
think they are called, long pendants of cut-glass in six circles from which rise the candle-holders. It is a