The woman sat back in her chair, attentive to the posturing of the dancer, slowly fanning herself.
Lanyard's semblance of as much interest was nothing more; furtively his watchfulness alternated between two quarters of the room.
On the farther edge of the circle of tropical radiance he had marked down a table at which two men were seated, Dressier and O'Reilly. No more question now as to the personnel of the conspiracy; even Velasco had thrown off the mask. The enemy had come boldly into the open, indicating a sense of impudent assurance, indicating even more, contempt of opposition. No longer afraid, they no longer skulked in shadows. Lanyard experienced a premonition of events impending.
In addition he was keeping an eye on the door to the elevator shaft. Once already it had opened, letting a bright window into the farther wall of the shadowed room, discovering the figure of the maître d'hôtel in silhouette, anxiety in his attitude. He was waiting for somebody, waiting tensely. So were the others waiting, all that crew and their fellow workers scattered among the guests. Lanyard told himself he could guess for whom.
Only Ekstrom was wanting to complete the circle. When he appeared—if by chance he should—things ought to begin to happen.
If tolerably satisfied that Ekstrom would not come—not that night, at all events—Lanyard, none the less, continued to be jealously heedful of that doorway.
But the hula came to an end without either his vigilance or the impatience of the maître d'hôtel being rewarded.
