"I shall ask your permission to retire," he said in a determined voice;
"I'm tired to-night; will you be good enough to show me to my room?"
Garvey looked up at him with a curious cringing expression behind which
there shone the gleam of cunning passion.
"Certainly," he said, rising from his chair. "You've had a tiring
journey. I ought to have thought of that before."
He took the candle from the table and lit it, and the fingers that held
the match trembled.
"We needn't trouble Marx," he explained. "That beast's in his vacuum by
this time."
III
They crossed the hall and began to ascend the carpetless wooden stairs.
They were in the well of the house and the air cut like ice. Garvey,
the flickering candle in his hand throwing his face into strong outline,
led the way across the first landing and opened a door near the mouth of
a dark passage. A pleasant room greeted the visitor's eyes, and he
rapidly took in its points while his host walked over and lit two
candles that stood on a table at the foot of the bed. A fire burned
brightly in the grate.
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