Trapes, sighing again, took up her tray; Mr.
Ravenslee, having opened the door for her, closed it again, lighted his
pipe, and sinking into the easy-chair, fell into frowning thought.
The windows were open, and from the crowded court below rose the shrill
babel of many children's voices, elfin shrieks and cries accompanied by
the jingle of a barrel-organ, very wiry and very much out of tune; but
Ravenslee, deep-plunged in thought, heard nought of it nor heeded the
fact that the pipe, tight-clenched between his strong, white teeth, was
out. For Geoffrey Ravenslee had set himself a problem.
The barrel-organ ceased its jangle, the children's voices were gradually
hushed, as, one by one, they were called in by hoarse-voiced mothers and
led away to bed; and the gloomy court grew ever gloomier as evening
deepened into night. But still Mr. Ravenslee lounged in the easy-chair,
so motionless that he might have been asleep except for the grim set of
his jaw and the bright, wide-open eyes of him.
At last, and suddenly, he sat erect, for he had heard a voice whose soft
murmur he recognised even through the closed door.
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