A smile, intended to be propitiatory, appeared upon the pale face.
“No, sir, excuse me, sir—”
“Don’t deny it!” said Gray angrily. “If I had the time I should give you in charge as a suspicious loiterer.”
Calling to the cabman to wait, he ran up the stairs to the second floor landing. Before the painted door bearing the name of Kazmah he halted, and as the door did not open, stamped impatiently, but with no better result.
At that, since there was neither bell nor knocker, he raised his fist and banged loudly.
No one responded to the summons.
“Hi, there!” he shouted. “Open the door! Pyne! Rita!”
Again he banged—and yet again. Then he paused, listening, his ear pressed to the panel.
He could detect no sound of movement within. Fists clenched, he stood staring at the closed door, and his fresh color slowly deserted him and left him pale.
“Damn him!” he muttered savagely. “Damn him! he has fooled me!”