But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. We were only—les autres. The prisoner breathed with difficulty. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. But from the rest—you saved me. Cautiously stepping outside, he looked up towards the terrace. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said.
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