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Updated: May 21, 2025
It was not Kerr. It was the blue-eyed Chinaman. After her haunted drive, after her escape, after Shima's search, he was there, still inexorably there; small, diminished by the great façade of the house, but looking up at it with his calm eye, surveying it, measuring its height, numbering its doors, trying its windows. Harry was beside her again. He was tugging frantically at the window.
He hadn't taken Shima's word for it, after all! The vestibule door closed noiselessly after him, the outer door shut with a heavy sound. Yet before that sound had ceased to vibrate, she heard it shut again. Was he coming back? There was a presence in the vestibule very vaguely seen through the glass and lace of the inner door. Her heart beat with apprehension. The door opened upon Clara.
She made a dash for the table where were pens and ink and on one sheet scrawled: "Certainly. Bring him," appending her initials; on the other the word "Impossible," and her full name. Then she hurried the letters into Shima's hands, lest her courage should fail her lest she should regret her choice. "Anywhere, at any time, to-night," she repeated softly. Why, the man must be mad!
She must go back to the beginning and read it over slowly. The striking of the hour hurried her. Shima's announcement of dinner only sent her eyes faster down the page. But when, with a faint, smooth rustle, Mrs. Britton came in, she let the paper fall. She always faced her chaperon with a little nervousness, and with the same sense of strangeness with which she so frequently regarded her house.
She had never been so glad of anything in her life as of the kind, astute, yellow face he presented to her distressed appeal. "Shima," she panted, "pay the cab; and if there's any one else there say that I'll call the police no, no, send him away." There was no question or hesitation in Shima's obedience.
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