In one corner of the room stood a battered easel, while against the wall
near it, and upon the floor, were a number of canvases of different
sizes. A cot bed, unmade, its covers dirty and in disorder, occupied the
wall space opposite the door. In the centre of the mean and uninviting
apartment stood a table, its top littered with odds and ends, amongst
which the remains of a meal, dishes and food, fraternised gregariously
with a painter's palette, brushes and paint tubes. A chair or two, long
since disabled, and a rickety washstand completed the appointments.
The moonlight's path across the floor wavered suddenly, the door opened,
was locked again, and with a quick, catlike step a man moved along the
side of the wall where the shadows lay thickest near the door, dropped
on his knees, and began to fumble hurriedly with the base-board of the
wall, pausing at every alternate second to listen intently.
A minute passed. A section of the base-board was lifted out, the man's
hand was thrust inside--and emerged again with a large roll of
banknotes. He turned his head for a quick glance around the room, his
eyes, burning out of a gaunt, hollow-cheeked, pallid face, held on the
torn window shade--and then, in almost frantic haste, he thrust the
banknotes back inside the wall, and began to replace the base-board.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25