'Go to the door,' I whispered.

He hesitated, and then we heard footsteps receding down the corridor.
Diaz went slowly to the door, opened it wide, slipped out into the
corridor, and looked into the darkness.

'Curious!' he commented tranquilly. 'I see no one.'

He came back into the room and shut the door softly, and seemed thereby
to shut us in, to enclose us against the world in a sweet domesticity of
our own. The fire was burning brightly, the glasses and the decanter on
the small table spoke of cheer, the curtains were drawn, and through a
half-open door behind the piano one had a hint of a mysterious other
room; one could see nothing within it save a large brass knob or ball,
which caught the light of the candle on the piano.

'You were startled,' he said. 'You must have a little more of our
cordial--just a spoonful.'

He poured out for me an infinitesimal quantity, and the same for himself.

I sighed with relief as I drank. My terror left me. But the trifling
incident had given me the clearest perception of what I was doing, and
that did not leave me.

We sat down a second time to the piano.

'You understand,' he explained, staring absently at the double page of
music, 'this is the garden scene. When the curtain goes up it is dark in