ghtened and shrill.

"Who's there?"

"Who are you?" Thor demanded, in tones that rolled and echoed through
the house.

There was a long, hesitating silence. Straining his eyes upward, Thor
could dimly make out a white face leaning over the highest banister.
When the question came at last it was as if reluctantly and shrinkingly.

"Is that you, Thor?"

Thor retreated from the stairs, backing away to the library, of which
the door was the nearest open one. He distinctly recorded the words that
passed through his mind. He might have uttered them audibly, so
indelible was the impression with which they cut themselves in.

"By God! I've got him."

Out of the confused suffering of two months earlier he heard himself
saying: "I swear to God that if I ever see Claude again I'll kill him."

He hadn't meant on that occasion deliberately to register a great oath;
the oath had registered itself. It was there in the archives of his
mind, signed and sealed and waiting for the moment of putting it into
execution. He had hardly thought of it since then; and now it urged
itself for fulfilment like a vow. It was a vow to cover not merely one
offense, but many--all the long years of nameless, unrecorded
irritations, ignored but never allayed, culminating in the act by which
this man had robbed him; robbed him uselessly, robbed him not to enjoy
the spoil, but to fling it away.

It was a moment of seeing red similar to many others in his life. For
the instant he could more easily have killed Claude than refrained from
doing it. That he should so refrain was a matter of course. Naturally!
He still kept a hold on common sense. He would not only refrain, but be
civil. If Claude were in need of anything or were short of cash he would
probably write him a check. It was the irony of this kind of rage that
it was so impotent. It was impotent and absurd. It might shake him to
the foundations of his being, but it would come to nothing in the end.
It both relieved and embittered him to foresee this result.

From the threshold of the library he called up to Claude, "Come down!"
The tone was imperious; it was even threatening. That degree of menace
at least he was unable to suppress.

Claude's steps could be heard on the stairs. They were slow and clanking
because the carpets were up and the house full of echoes. To Thor's
fevered imagination it seemed as if Claude dragged his feet like a man
wearing chains, going haltingly and clumsily be