A grim
whimsicality fell upon him. It would be too bad to lose it! It was
luxury to what Larry the Bat had known! There had not even been a carpet
in the old Sanctuary, and--he sat suddenly bolt upright on the cot, his
eyes, that had mechanically travelled on along the moonpath, strained
now upon where the light fell upon the threshold of the door. There was
a little white patch there, a most curious little white patch--that had
not been there when he had thrown himself on the cot. Came a sudden,
incredulous thought that sent the blood whipping fiercely through his
veins; and with a low cry, in mad, feverish haste now, he leaped from
the cot and across the room.
It was an envelope that had been thrust in under the door. In an instant
he had snatched it up from the floor, and in another, acting
instinctively, even while he realised the futility of what he did, he
wrenched the door open, stared out into a dark and empty
passageway--and, with a strange, almost hysterical laugh, closed and
locked the door again.
There was no writing on the envelope; there was not light enough to have
deciphered it if there had been--but he had need for neither writing
nor light.
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