But Milverton never looked up. He was languidly interested
by the papers in his hand, and page after page was turned as he
followed the argument of the lawyer. At least, I thought, when
he has finished the document and the cigar he will go to his
room; but before he had reached the end of either there came
a remarkable development which turned our thoughts into quite
another channel.
Several times I had observed that Milverton looked at his
watch, and once he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture
of impatience. The idea, however, that he might have an
appointment at so strange an hour never occurred to me until
a faint sound reached my ears from the veranda outside.
Milverton dropped his papers and sat rigid in his chair.
The sound was repeated, and then there came a gentle tap
at the door. Milverton rose and opened it.
"Well," said he, curtly, "you are nearly half an hour late."
So this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the
nocturnal vigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle of
a woman's dress. I had closed the slit between the curtains as
Milverton's face had turned in our direction, but now I ventured
very carefully to open it once more.
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