It was on the next floor below, the first above the street,
that Ekstrom had stopped. But in what quarter thereof? The exigency forbade
the risk of one false turn. If Lanyard were to take Ekstrom unawares it
must be at the first cast.
From the ground floor came semi-coherent snatches of surly comment, like
growls of a thunderstorm passing off into the distance:
"_At a time such as this_...."
"... _Secret Service snapping at our heels_ ..."
"... _base on the Vineyard discovered_ ..."
"... _Au Printemps raided, Sophie Weringrode under arrest. God knows
whether she will hold her tongue_!"
"_Trust her! But this ass_ ..."
"_Bringing a woman here, putting all our necks into a halter_ ..."
Immediately opposite the foot of the stairway, on the first storey, a door
opened. O'Reilly came alertly forth, closed the door behind him, paused,
fished in his pocket for a cigarette case, lighted and inhaled with deep
appreciation, meantime eavesdropping on the utterances below with his head
cocked to one side and a malicious smile shadowing his handsome Irish face.
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