For by now the light
was clear and strong, in the open.
Yet to his relief he found no more than limpid twilight in the cramped
and shadowed well down which zigzagged the fire-escape; while the
opposite wall of the adjoining building ran blind from earth to roof;
giving comfortable assurance that none could spy upon him save from
the Monastery windows.
"One thing more"--Peter Kenny came to the window to advise, as P.
Sybarite scrambled out upon the gridiron platform--"Shaynon's flat
isn't arranged like mine. He's better off than I am, you know--can
afford more elbow-room. I'm not sure, but I _think_ you'll break
in--if at all--by the dining-room window.... So long. Good luck!"
Clasping hands, they exchanged an anxious smile before P. Sybarite
began his cautious descent.
Not that he found it difficult; the Monastery fire-escape was a series
of steep flights of iron steps, instead of the primitive vertical
ladder of round iron rungs in more general use. There was even a
guard-rail at the outside of each flight. Consequently, P. Sybarite
gained the eleventh floor platform very readily.
But there he held up a long instant, dashed to discover his task made
facile rather than obstructed.
The window was wide open, to force whose latch he had thoughtfully
provided himself with a fruit knife from Peter Kenny's buffet. Within
was gloom and stillness absolute--the one rendered the more opaque by
heavy velvet hangings, shutting out the light; the other with a
quality individual and, as P.
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