A sudden rage surged over him at that thought, and he fell savagely on the shut door, beating it with insensate fury with his fists.

Damn him, he would force his way in! The cormorant ruffled its greenish feathers and watched him curiously.

The faint cries of the gulls overhead seemed borne downward with a note of mocking derision.

Charles Turold stepped back from the door with an uneasy look at the cormorant, as though fearing to detect in its unreflecting beadiness of glance some humanly cynical enjoyment at his loss of self-control.

The wave of feeling had spent itself.