uldn't hesitate. I believe I
gave a slight laugh of desperation. The suddenness of this sinister
conclusion had in it something comic and unbelievable. It loosened my
grip on my mental processes. A Latin tag came into my head about the
facile descent into the abyss. I marvelled at its aptness, and also that
it should have come to me so pat. But I believe now that it was
suggested simply by the actual declivity of the street of the Consuls
which lies on a gentle slope. We had just turned the corner. All the
houses were dark and in a perspective of complete solitude our two
shadows dodged and wheeled about our feet.

"Here we are," I said.

He was an extraordinarily chilly devil. When we stopped I could hear his
teeth chattering again. I don't know what came over me, I had a sort of
nervous fit, was incapable of finding my pockets, let alone the latchkey.
I had the illusion of a narrow streak of light on the wall of the house
as if it had been cracked. "I hope we will be able to get in," I
murmured.

Senor Ortega stood waiting patiently with his handbag, like a rescued
wayfarer. "But you live in this house, don't you?" he observed.

"No," I said, without hesitation. I didn't know how that man would
behave if he were aware that I was staying under the same roof. He was
half mad. He might want to talk all night, try crazily to invade my
privacy. How could I tell? Moreover, I wasn't so sure that I would
remain in the house. I had some notion of going out again and walking up
and down the street of the Consuls till daylight. "No, an absent friend
lets me use . . . I had that latchkey this morning . . . Ah! here it is."

I let him go in first. The sickly gas flame was there on duty,
undaunted, waiting for the end of the world to come and put it out. I
think that the black-and-white hall surprised Ortega. I had closed the
front door without noise and stood for a moment listening, while he
glanced about furtively. There were only two other doors in the hall,
right and left. Their panels of ebony were decorated with bronze
applications in the centre. The one on the left was of course Blunt's
door. As the passage leading beyond it was dark at the further end I
took Senor Ortega by the hand and led him along, unresisting, like a
child. For some reason or other I moved on tip-toe and he followed my
example. The light and the warmth of the studio impressed him
favourably; he laid down his little bag,