Philippa murmured, with a little catch in her own throat.

"He always used to love one about this time," Helen faltered,
glancing at the clock.

"And cigarettes!" Philippa exclaimed. "I wonder whether they give
him anything to smoke."

"Nasty German tobacco, if they do," Helen rejoined indignantly.
"And to think that I have sent him at least six hundred of his
favourite Egyptians!"

She fell once more on her knees by her friend's side. Their arms
were intertwined, their cheeks touching. One of those strange,
feminine silences of acute sympathy seemed to hold them for a while
under its thrall. Then, almost at the same moment, a queer
awakening came for both of them. Helen's arm was stiffened.
Philippa turned her head, but her eyes were filled with incredulous
fear. A little current of cool air was blowing through the room.
The French windows stood half open, and with his back to them, a
man who had apparently entered the room from the gardens and passed
noiselessly across the soft carpet, was standing by the door,
listening. They heard him turn the key. Then, in a businesslike
manner, he returned to the windows and closed them, the eyes of
the two women following him all the time. Satisfied, apparently,
with his precautions, he turned towards them just as an expression
of indignant enquiry broke from Philippa's lips. Helen sprang to
her feet, and Philippa gripped the sides of her chair. The newcomer
advanced a few steps nearer to them.