He turned the key noiselessly in the lock and went in. The great building lay silent and shadowy as he made his way from room to room, up flight after flight of long stairs, guided only by the sense of touch and familiarity. The darkness about him seemed filled with whispers--plots, counterplots. He felt them vaguely, as he climbed--yet with a certain serenity of heart. Simeon would see Dr. Blake. All would be right. Let the master of the road once be master of himself and the shadows would melt. He crossed the upper loft and went into the little room. The air was stifling, after the freshness outside, and he threw open the windows, leaning out to breathe deep. He heard the roar of the engine coming into the yard on the still air and saw the lights gleam through the smoke.
It was a wonderful night. The deep September sky twinkled with stars and far below him, the city, dark and mysterious and sad, lifted its glimmering lamps. They broke the darkness, luminous, faint--like some inner meaning. The youth looking down had a sudden, quickened sense of power, vast issues, mighty interests. The city slept at his feet, beautiful, relaxed. Fold upon fold of darkness wrapped it round and his heart went out to it--helpless there in the darkness--and in its midst, Simeon--asleep or awake--waiting the new day. A fresh loyalty to the man swelled within him. The sleeping city touched him in a way he could not name--its mighty power cradled in the night in sleep.
It was the lightest click... but he sat up, his eyes fixed on darkness. The lock clicked again and the door swung open. He felt it move softly through the black, and close again. A footstep crossed the floor. John waited. He was leaning forward, staring before him, his slow mind wrestling with the sounds that came and went, lightly. He was unarmed. He had only his hands; he clinched them a little and felt the muscles swell behind them. He was not altogether defenceless!
The sounds puzzled him. They were methodical, deliberate--not as if finding out the way, but as if accustomed to the place and to darkness. ... Simeon Tetlow, himself?--The thought flashed at him and drew back. ... A light stole through the gloom--the focused glow of the electric pocket candle on a desk across the room--Simeon’s desk.