"Sh!" was Kennedy's only comment in the negative.
I glanced now and then at my watch and by straining my eyes was
surprised to see how early it was yet. The minutes were surely
leaden-footed.
In the darkness, I fell again to reviewing the weird succession of
events. I am not by nature superstitious, but in the black silence
I could well imagine a staring succession of eyes, beginning with
the dilated pupils of Whitney and passing on to the corpse-like
expression of Mendoza, but always ending with the remarkable,
piercing, black eyes of the Indian woman with the melancholy-
visaged son, as they had impressed me the first time I saw them
and, in fact, ever since. Was it a freak of my mind, or was there
some reason for it?
Suddenly I heard in the next room what sounded like a series of
little explosions, as though some one were treading on match
heads.
"My burglar powder works," muttered Craig to me in a hoarse
whisper. "Every step, even those of a mouse running across, sets
it off!"
He rose quickly and threw open the door into Whitney's suite. I
sprang after him.
There, in the shadows, I saw a dark form, starting back in quick
retreat. But we were too late. He was cat-like, too quick for us.
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