In fact there would not have been space there for any grown-up person to
squeeze into.
He told himself that what he had heard--if he had heard anything--was
someone bringing him his coffee and rolls, and that the servant had
probably been trying to attract his attention, for, following his prudent
custom, he had locked his door the night before.
He unlocked the door and looked out, staring this way and that along the
empty passage. But no, in spite of the now-risen sun, it was still early
morning; the Pension Malfait was sunk in sleep.
Chester went back to bed. He felt tired, disturbed, uneasy; sleep was out
of the question; so he lay back, and with widely-open eyes, began to
think of Sylvia Bailey and of the strange events of the night before.
He lived again the long hour he had spent at the Casino. He could almost
smell the odd, sweet, stuffy smell of the Baccarat Room, and there rose
before him its queer, varied inmates. He visioned distinctly Sylvia
Bailey as he had suddenly seen her, sitting before the green cloth,
with her money piled up before her, and a look of eager interest and
absorption on her face.
Pages:
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321