7


He found himself in a large room which, before he could examine a single
feature of it, was effectively curtained from his sight. Straight into
his face shot a current of violent white light that made him blink.
There was the natural recoil, but in Donnegan recoils were generally
protected by several strata of willpower and seldom showed in any
physical action. On the present occasion his first dismay was swiftly
overwhelmed by a cold anger at the insulting trick. This was not the
trick of a helpless invalid; Donnegan could not see a single thing
before him, but he obeyed a very deep instinct and advanced straight
into the current of light.

He was glad to see the light switched away. The comparative darkness
washed across his eyes in a pleasant wave and he was now able to
distinguish a few things in the room. It was, as he had first surmised,
quite large. The ceiling was high; the proportions comfortably spacious;
but what astounded Donnegan was the real elegance of the furnishings.
There was no mistaking the deep, silken texture of the rug upon which he
stepped; the glow of light barely reached the wall, and there showed
faintly in streaks along yellowish hangings. Beside a table which
supported a big reading lamp--gasoline, no doubt, from the intensity of
its light--sat Colonel Macon with a large volume spread across his
knees. Donnegan saw two highlights--fine silver hair that covered the
head of the invalid and a pair of white hands fallen idly upon the