xxi

But Sally did not stay at the piano. She was restless and apprehensive. She did not dare to strike a note, in case Gaga should be asleep. And she could not go into the bedroom. She tried to do so, but she so shrank from meeting Gaga after their talk that every impulse held her faltering here. Instead, Sally went through the door which led from the drawing-room to the balcony. Only one light was burning, at the farther end, and this cast such a tiny ray that it threw up the shadows of no more than a single enamelled iron table and wicker chair. For the rest, everything was in a monotonous grey twilight, bereft of all incidental colourings and of all significance. The electric bulb was grimed with age and the action of the air, and the light was quite yellow, as that from an oil lamp would have been. The matting with which the floor of the balcony was covered was in shadow. Through the windows Sally could see only a blackness in which the water and the opposite bank and the buildings farther away were all obscured. She went towards the light, and sat here in an armchair, staring straight before her, and thinking the one word ... poison ... poison ... poison.

She must have been sitting upon the balcony for several minutes in this state approaching stupor, when she heard a faint sound. It was like the brushing of leaves against a passing body. Her heart quickened, and she looked quickly towards the darker end of the balcony, near the door leading to the drawing-room. She could see nothing at all, but her nerves did not relax their tenseness. She could see nothing; but she felt that something—somebody was there, watching her. Somebody—whom could it be? Sally knew how deserted the bar was, how easy it would be for a man to slip up the stairs without being seen. She was defenceless. If she had been well, she would have gone straight along the balcony, to discover the cause of her alarm; but she was ill, and she shrank back in her chair, watching the pulsing dimness.

Sally knew that there were only two people who could wish her harm—Gaga and Toby. If Gaga had gone out of his bedroom by the inner door he might have come round through the drawing-room, and might be standing there in the darkness. He might have gone away again. He might have found the poison. In a passion of fear, she rose. If it was Gaga, she would soon confront him. She would satisfy herself of his presence in the bedroom. She took two steps, and then stopped, her heart frantically beating. There was somebody there.

"Sally," came a sharp whisper. "Sally. Don't be afraid."

It was Toby, hidden still from sight, but waiting there at the dark end of the balcony.