In all the stretch of wall only two windows were lighted, and those yellow squares, he knew, belonged to his father.

He had left the secret room, therefore.
As he watched, a shadow brushed slowly across one of the drawn shades, swept the second, and returned at once in the opposite direction.

Back and forth, back and forth, that shadow moved, and as his eye grew accustomed to watching, he caught quite clearly the curve of the shoulders and the forward droop of the head.
It was not until then that the first alarm came to Anthony, for he knew that the footsteps of the big grey man were dogged by fear.

He could no more conceive it than he could imagine noon and midnight in conjunction, and feeling as guilty as if he had played the part of an eavesdropper he turned away, snapped off the lights, and slipped into bed.
The pleasant warmth of sleep would not come.

In its place the images of the day filed past him like the dance of figures on a motion picture screen, and always, like the repeated entrance of the hero, the other images grew small and dim.