There was dim light behind narrow leaded panes in the side door of the Sternwood mansion. I stopped the Packard under the porte-cochere and emptied my pockets out on the seat. The girl snored in the corner, her hat tilted rakishly over her nose, her hands hanging limp in the folds of the raincoat. I got out and rang the bell. Steps came slowly, as if from a long dreary distance. The door opened and the straight, silvery butler looked out at me. The light from the hall made a halo of his hair. He said: "Good evening, sir," politely and looked past me at the Packard. His eyes came back to look at my eyes. "Is Mrs. Regan in?" "No, sir." "The General is asleep, I hope?" "Yes. The evening is his best time for sleeping." "How about Mrs. Regan's maid?" "Mathilda? She's here, sir." "Better get her down here. The job needs the woman's touch. Take a look in the car and you'll see why." He took a look in the car. He came back. "I see," he said. "I'll get Mathilda." "Mathilda will do right by her," I said. "We all try to do right by her," he said. "I guess you have had practice," I said. He let that one go. "Well, good-night," I said. "I'm leaving it in your hands." "Very good, sir. May I call you a cab?" "Positively," I said, "not. As a matter of fact I'm not here. You're just seeing things." He smiled then. He gave me a duck of his head and I turned and walked down the driveway and out of the gates. Ten blocks of that, winding down curved rain-swept streets, under the steady drip of trees, past lighted windows in big houses in ghostly enormous grounds, vague clusters of eaves and gables and lighted windows high on the hillside, remote and inaccessible, like witch houses in a forest. I came out at a service station glaring with wasted light, where a bored attendant in a white cap and a dark blue windbreaker sat hunched on a stool, inside the steamed glass, reading a paper. I started in, then kept going. I was as wet as I could get already. And on a night like that you can grow a beard waiting for a taxi. And taxi drivers remember. I made it back to Geiger's house in something over half an hour of nimble walking. There was nobody there, no car on the street except my own car in front of the next house. It looked as dismal as a lost dog. I dug mybottle of rye out of it and poured half of what was left down my throat and got inside to light a cigarette. I smoked half of it, threw it away, got out again and went down to Geiger's. I unlocked the door and stepped into the still warm darkness and stood there, dripping quietly on the floor and listening to the rain. I groped to a lamp and lit it. The first thing I noticed was that a couple of strips of embroidered silk were gone from the wall. I............