In the hush that reigned in this part of the house he could still
hear the hateful click-click of the balls; if he waited for a few minutes
longer he would hear the little outbreak of clapping and buzz of
congratulation that would hail Strinnit's victory. On the alert tension
of his nerves there broke another sound, the aggressive, wrath-inducing
breathing of one who sleeps in heavy after-dinner slumber. The sound
came from a room just at his elbow; the card on the door bore the
announcement "Mrs. Thundleford." The door was just slightly ajar; Rex
pushed it open an inch or two more and looked in. The august Teresa had
fallen asleep over an illustrated guide to Florentine art-galleries; at
her side, somewhat dangerously near the edge of the table, was a reading-
lamp. If Fate had been decently kind to him, thought Rex, bitterly, that
lamp would have been knocked over by the sleeper and would have given
them something to think of besides billiard matches.
There are occasions when one must take one's Fate in one's hands. Rex
took the lamp in his.
"Two hundred and thirty-seven, one hundred and fifteen." Strinnit was at
the table, and the balls lay in good position for him; he had a choice of
two fairly easy shots, a choice which he was never to decide.
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