Ten minutes passed in silence—only broken by the dim murmur of the distant traffic.
He had almost persuaded himself that his imagination—quickened by the atmosphere of mystery and horror wherein he had recently moved—was responsible for the hiss, when a new sound came to confute his reasoning.
The people occupying the chambers below were moving about so that their footsteps were faintly audible; but, above these dim footsteps, a rustling—vague, indefinite, demonstrated itself. As in the case of the hiss, it proceeded from the passage.
A light burnt inside the outer door, and this, as Cairn knew, must cast a shadow before any thing—or person—approaching the room.
Sssf! ssf!—came, like the rustle of light draperies.
The nervous suspense was almost unbearable. He waited.
What was creeping, slowly, cautiously, towards the open door?
Cairn toyed with the trigger of his revolver.
"The arts of the West shall try conclusions with those of the East," he said.
A shadow!...