And her whisper was such that he passed the weapon, as it were
hypnotically, to her under the blind. And then the blind slipped down,
and he could see no more. He heard a shot, and the next thing was that
the revolver was pushed back to him, nearly at the level of the floor.

'Wait there!' The sound of her voice, tense and authoritative, came
through the slit of the window and thrilled him. 'All is well now, but I
will send you a message.'

And the window was swiftly closed and a curtain drawn behind the blind.
He could hear nothing.

He had small intention of obeying her. 'She must have gone in by the
servants' entrance,' he argued. 'I should have seen her if she had tried
the other.' And he ran to the small door, but it was shut fast. In vain
he knocked and shook the handle for several minutes. Then he hastened to
the main door on the broad balcony, but that also was impregnable.

Should he break a pane?

A noise far along the balcony attracted him. He flew towards it, found
nothing but a cat purring, and returned. The luscious music of the
Tsigane band, one of the nine orchestras which he owned, reached him
faintly over the edge of the quadrangle.

Then he decidedly did hear human footsteps on the balcony. They were the
footsteps of Shawn.

'She's gone, sir. Took the lift, and whizzed off in Mr. Tudor's electric
brougham that was waiting.'