Was there anything, any single incident, any single detail of all
that had transpired, that was not explained, borne out, as it could be
explained and borne out in no other way save that the Crime Club should
be no other than this very house itself? It was the exposition of
that favourite theory of his--it was so obvious that therein lay its
security. He had mocked at the Magpie not many moments before on that
score--and now it was the beam in his own eye! It was so obvious now, so
glaringly obvious, that the Crime Club could have been nowhere else; so
obvious, with every word of the Tocsin's story pointing it out like a
signpost--and he had not seen it!
And then suddenly every muscle grew strained and rigid. WAS THERE SOME
ONE IN THE CORRIDOR? Was it some one moving--or was it only fancy? He
listened--while he strained his eyes through the darkness. There was no
sound; only that abnormal, heavy silence that--yes, he remembered that,
too, now--that had clung about him last night like a pall. He could
see nothing, hear nothing--but intuitively, bringing a cold dismay, the
greater because it was something unknown, intangible, he FELT as though
eyes were upon him, that even in the darkness he was being watched!
And as he stood there, then, slowly there crept upon Jimmie Dale the
sense of peril and disaster. It was not intuition now--it was certainty.
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