Presently he advanced over the threshold one leg--it seemed to stretch
itself, like a limb of india-rubber--planted his foot within, brought up
the other swiftly, and stood inside the room, turning his head from side
to side. To his eyes, brought in there from the dazzling sunshine, all
was gloom for a moment. His pupils, like a cat's, dilating swiftly, he
distinguished an enormous quantity of books. He was amazed; and he was
put off too. He was vexed in his astonishment. He had meant to note the
aspect and nature of things, and hoped to draw some useful inference,
some hint as to the man. But what guess could one make out of a
multitude of books? He didn't know what to think; and he formulated his
bewilderment in the mental exclamation:

"What the devil has this fellow been trying to set up here--a school?"

He gave a prolonged stare to the portrait of Heyst's father, that severe
profile ignoring the vanities of this earth. His eyes gleamed sideways
at the heavy silver candlesticks--signs of opulence. He prowled as a
stray cat entering a strange place might have done, for if Ricardo had
not Wang's miraculous gift of materializing and vanishing, rather than
coming and going, he could be nearly as noiseless in his less elusive
movements. He noted the back door standing just ajar; and all the time
his slightly pointed ears, at the utmost stretch of watchfulness, kept
in touch with the profound silence outside enveloping the absolute
stillness of the house.

He had not been in the room two minutes when it occurred to him that he
must be alone in the bungalow. The woman, most likely, had sneaked out
and was walking about somewhere in the grounds at the back. She had
been probably ordered to keep out of sight. Why? Because the fellow
mistrusted his guests; or was it because he mistrusted her?

Ricardo reflected that from a certain point of view it amounted nearly
to the same thing. He remembered Schomberg's story. He felt that
running away with somebody only to get clear of that beastly, tame,
hotel-keeper's attention was no proof of hopeless infatuation. She could
be got in touch with.

His moustaches stirred. For some time he had been looking at a closed
door. He would peep into that other room, and perhaps see something more
informing than a confounded lot of books. As he crossed over, he thought
recklessly:

"If the beggar comes in suddenly, and starts to prance, I'll rip him up
and be done with it!"

He laid his