Once or twice he sighed heavily, as he listened to the
river slishing past and looked out to the sparkle of the skies. It was as
though the infinite had drawn near to the man, or else that the man had
drawn near to the infinite. Now and again he brought his fists down on
his knees with a savage, though noiseless, force. The peace of the river
and the night could not contend successfully against a dark spirit
working in him. When, during his vigil, he shook his shaggy head and his
lips opened on his set teeth, he seemed like one who would take toll at a
gateway of forbidden things.
He started to his feet at last, hearing footsteps outside upon the
stairs. Then he settled back again, drawing near to the chimney-wall, so
that he should not be easily seen by anyone entering. Presently there was
the click of a latch, then the door opened and shut, and cigar-smoke
invaded the room. An instant later a hand went up to the suspended
oil-lamp and twisted the wick into brighter flame. As it did so, there
was a slight noise, then the click of a lock. Turning sharply, the man
under the lamp saw at the door the man who had been sitting in the
corner. The man had a key in his hand. Exit now could only be had through
the door opening on to the river.
"Who are you? What the hell do you want here?" asked the fellow under the
lamp, his swarthy face drawn with fear and yet frowning with anger.
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