again the coerced and icy quietness of her voice was ominous.
"Then for the love o' God be reasonable," he cried, plainly conscious that the avenue of his escape was a narrowing one.
"Then take me to Carlesi."
"I tell you I can't do it," he protested, surrendering to some final compulsion of fear. There was, however, a subtler note in his voice as he spoke again. "But if you've got to have him, I'll get him for you."
"I intend to see him."
"Then stay here a minute."
Kestner waited, without breathing, wondering what it could mean. He waited for the sound of Lambert's approaching steps. But instead of approaching, they receded; they crossed the floor, and mounted the stairs, and passed out through the quickly opened door.
Then the white light of truth smote on the Secret Agent with a suddenness which caused him to gasp, as a banqueter gasps at a flashlight taken over his shoulder. The unexpected had happened, had come about in its unexpected way. Lambert had gone.
Kestner crouched there, waiting interminably, tortured by the thought that he was unable to act. He could merely listen with straining ears behind his locked door, debating within himself whether it would be better or not to push through that flimsy barrier and confront Carlesi and Maura Lambert while they stood within the same walls. For Lambert, he had instinctively felt, would never return to that room.
