that change the eavesdropper had no way of telling. But it was transparent enough that Carlesi was protesting that he was an old man, that he was broken in health, that his bullet wound had left him with a weak lung. He began to whimper for money, protesting that the girl had plenty and that all he needed was enough to get out of the country, to where it was warm and his cough could be cured.
The listener behind the closed door could hear the girl promising him her help, protesting she would give him what she could. The tones of her voice struck Kestner as being strangely impetuous and exalted, as though the consciousness of some great deliverance had lifted her high above the things of everyday life. Yet something about the answering voice of Carlesi touched the listener with disquiet. It brought that listener's ear closer against the wooden partition, in a panic to catch every sound that might pass between the couple so completely hidden from his view.
Yet what took place he could not altogether decipher. He only knew there was the sound of a sudden gasp from the girl, followed by an oddly choked little cry, as though a hand had been pressed over her mouth at the very moment she was about to call out. Then came a sharp concussion of the partition-boards and the equally sharp sounds of two bodies struggling together.
Kestner no longer hesitated. He stepped quickly back from the locked door and, throwing himself forward, shouldered against it with all his weight. That impact burst it open as readily as though it had been made of cardboard.
