But he controlled the
impulse, or else Satan controlled it for him. That way, whispered
the Tempter, was too straight and simple. He must think. He must
have time to readjust his mind to the horrible circumstances so
suddenly revealed.
Very soft and silently, keeping well within the shadow of the wall,
he sidled to the door which he had left ajar. Soundlessly he pushed
it open, passed in and as soundlessly closed it again. For a moment
he stood leaning heavily against its timbers, his breath coming in
short panting sobs. Then he steadied himself and turning, made his
way down the corridor to the little study which had been fitted up
for him in the residential wing, and where sometimes he worked at
night. He had been writing there that evening ever since dinner,
and he had quitted the room only to go to his assignation with
Samoval, leaving the lamp burning on his open desk.
He opened the door, but before passing in he paused a moment,
straining his ears to listen for sounds overhead. His eyes,
glancing up and down, were arrested by a thin blade of light under
a door at the end of the corridor. It was the door of the butler's
pantry, and the line of light announced that Mullins had not yet
gone to bed.
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