latch and opened the door. Inside the hall-light was burning, and so was
the shaded electric lamp in the conservatory. The study leading to the
conservatory was in darkness. The effect of the light behind was
artistic and pleasing.

It was with a sense of comfort and relief that David fastened the door
behind him. Without putting up the light in the study David laid the
Rembrandt on his table, which was immediately below the window in his
work-room. The night was hot; he pushed the top sash down liberally.

"I must get that transparency removed," he murmured, "and have the window
filled with stained glass. The stuff is artistic, but it is so frankly
what it assumes to be."




CHAPTER XVIII

A COMMON ENEMY


David idly mixed himself some whisky and soda water in the dining-room,
where he finished his cigarette. He was tired and ready for bed now, so
tired that he could hardly find energy enough to remove his boots and get
into the big carpet slippers that were so old and worn. He put down the
dining-room lights and strolled into the study. Just for a moment he sat
there contemplating with pleased, tired eyes the wilderness of bloom
before him.