E. Phillips Oppenheim

The Avenger E. Phillips Oppenheim

The man and the woman stood facing one another, although in the uncertain firelight which alone illumi-nated the room neither could see much save the outline of the other's form. The woman stood at the further end of the apartment by the side of the desk - his desk. The slim trembling fingers of one hand rested lightly upon it, the other was hanging by her side, nervously crumpling up the glove which she had only taken off a few minutes before. The man stood with his back to the door through which he had just entered. He was in evening dress; he carried an overcoat over his arm, and his hat was slightly on the back of his head. A cigarette was still burning between his lips, the key by means of which he had entered was swinging from his little finger. So far no words had passed between them. Both were apparently stupefied for the moment by the other's unexpected presence.