Winn himself became quieter as he followed the landlord
through interminable passages covered with linoleum where his boots made
a noise like muffled thunder.

Everywhere there was a strange sense of absolute cleanliness and
silence, the subduing smell of disinfectant and the sight of padded,
green felt doors.

When Winn was left alone in a room like a vivid cell, all emptiness and
electric light, and with another green door leading into a farther room,
he became aware of a very faint sound that came from the other side of
the door. It was like the bark of a dog shut up in a distant cellar; it
explained the padding of the doors.

In all the months that followed, Winn never lost this sound, near or
far; it was always with him, seldom shattering and harsh, but always
sounding as if something were being broken gradually, little by little,
shaken into pieces by some invisible disintegrating power.

Winn flung open the long window which faced the bed. It led out to a
small private balcony--if he had to be out on a balcony, he had of
course made a point of its being private--and looked over all Davos.

The lights were nearly gone now. Only two or three twinkled in a narrow
circle on a sheet of snow; behind them the vague shapes of the mountains
hung immeasurably alien and at peace.

A bell rang out through the still air with a deep, reverberating note.
It was a reassuring and yet solemn sound, as if it alone were
responsible for humanity, for all the souls crowded together in the tiny
valley, striving for their separate, shaken, inconclusive lives.

"An odd place--Davos," Winn thought to himself. "No idea it was like
this. Sort of mix up between a picnic and a cemetery!"

And then suddenly somebody laughed. The sound came from a slope of
mountain behind the hotel, and through the dark Winn's quick ear caught
the sound of a light rushing across the snow. Some one must be
tobogganing out there, some one very young and gay and incorrigibly
certain of joy. Winn hoped he should hear Peter laughing like that later
on. It was such a jolly boy's laugh, low, with a mischievous chuckle in
it, elated, and very disarming.

He hoped the child wouldn't get hauled up for being out so late and
making a noise. He smiled as he thought that the owner of the voice,
even if collared, would probably be up to getting out of his trouble;
and when he turned in, he was still smiling.

CHAPTER XI

Dr. Gurnet's house was like an eye