E Phillips Oppenheim

The Avenger E Phillips Oppenheim

The man and the woman stood facing one another, although in the uncertain firelight whichalone illuminated the room neither could see much save the outline of the other's form. Thewoman stood at the further end of the apartment by the side of the desk-his desk. The slimtrembling fingers of one hand rested lightly upon it, the other was hanging by her side, nervouslycrumpling up the glove which she had only taken off a few minutes before. The man stood withhis back to the door through which he had just entered. He was in evening dress; he carried anovercoat over his arm, and his hat was slightly on the back of his head. A cigarette was stillburning between his lips, the key by means of which he had entered was swinging from his littlefinger. So far no words had passed between them. Both were apparently stupefied for themoment by the other's unexpected presence. It was the man who recovered his self-possession first. He threw his overcoat into a chair, andtouched the brass knobs behind the door. Instantly the room was flooded with the soft radianceof the electric lights. They could see one another now distinctly. The woman leaned a littleforward, and there was amazement as well as fear flashing in her soft, dark eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded to herself unnatural. To him it came as a surprise, for the world of menand women was his study, and he recognized at once its quality