Then Cardew, breathless with excitement, switched off the electric light, plunging the room in darkness.
Gradually, when our eyes became used to it, we could distinguish a faint grey light from the window, but it was not sufficient for me to distinguish my friend, seated as he was in the corner with light and weapon ready.
An hour passed, but nothing happened. We were waiting there, every nerve strained to the utmost tension, but in vain.
At last a sudden suggestion crossed my mind, and leaving Cardew in the room, with his torch ready, I went next door into Shaw’s room, which was still dark, and, having closed the door, imitated that peculiar whistle of his. Three or four times I whistled, surprised that I could imitate him so exactly. Then I waited, listening intently.
I could hear nothing.
So I crept back again to the bed in Asta’s room, for I think Cardew was now becoming impatient. Then, while lying upon the bed, I cautioned him to be very careful.
“Open your light at the slightest sound, remember.”
I held my breath, and could hear my own heart beating in the dead silence. Then after the lapse of a few moments—for we were both listening to the hum of a receding motor-car, and wondering whose it was—I suddenly gave vent to that low, curious whistle.
Once, twice, thrice I repeated it, low and cautious, so that any one passing the door might not be attracted by it.
Then I listened again with bated breath.