He decided that, whatever the hour might be, it was still
daylight. In one wall of the room was a large, oval window, of a
material which may as well be called glass, frosted, so as to
permit no view of what might lie outside. But it allowed plenty of
light to enter.
Cut in the opposite wall was a doorway, hung with a curtain
instead of a door. This curtain was a gauzy material, but its
maroonlike shade completely hid all view of whatever lay beyond.
Chick waited and listened. Hitherto he had not heard a sound.
There was not even that subtle, mixed hum from the distance that
we are accustomed to associate with silence. He felt certain that
he was inside the Blind Spot; but as to just where that locality
might lie, he knew as little as before. He knew only that he in a
building of some sort. Where, and what, was the building?
Just then he noticed a cord dangling from the ceiling. It came
down to within six inches of his head. He gave it a pull.
Whereupon he heard a faint, musical jangling in the distance. He
tried to analyse the sound. It was not bell-like; perhaps the word
"tinkling" would serve better. Provisionally, Chick placed the key
at middle D.
A moment later he heard steps outside the curtain. They were very
soft and light and deliberate; and almost at the same instant a
delicate white hand moved the curtain aside.
It was a woman. Chick lay back and wondered.
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