There was something sensual and horrible the way he put his mouth to the glass.
His lips folded upon the glass in a peculiar way.
There was a dark red patch on his jaw where Maxim had hit him.
Maxim had turned his back on him again and had returned to the window.
I glanced at Colonel Julyan and saw that he was looking at Maxim. His gaze was curious, intent.
My heart began beating very quickly.
Why did Colonel Julyan look at Maxim in that way?
Did it mean that he was beginning to wonder, to suspect?
Maxim did not see.
He was watching the rain.
It fell straight and steady as before.
The sound filled the room.
Favell finished his whisky and soda and put the glass back on the table beside the sofa.
He was breathing heavily. He did not look at any of us. He was staring straight in front of him at the floor.
The telephone began ringing in the little room.
It struck a shrill, discordant note.
Frank went to answer it.
He came back at once and looked at Colonel Julyan.
'It's your daughter,' he said; 'they want to know if they are to keep dinner back.'
Colonel Julyan waved his hand impatiently.
'Tell them to start,' he said, 'tell them I don't know when I shall be back.'
He glanced at his watch.
'Fancy ringing up,' he muttered; 'what a moment to choose.'
Frank went back into the little room to give the message.
I thought of the daughter at the other end of the telephone.
It would be the one who played golf.
I could imagine her calling to her sister,
'Dad says we're to start.
What on earth can he be doing?
The steak will be like leather.'
Their little household disorganised because of us.
Their evening routine upset.
All these foolish inconsequent threads hanging upon one another, because Maxim had killed Rebecca.
I looked at Frank.
His face was pale and set.
'I heard Robert coming back with the car,' he said to Colonel Julyan.
'The window in there looks on to the drive.'
He went out of the library to the hall.
Favell had lifted his head when he spoke.
Then he got to his feet once more and stood looking towards the door.
There was a queer ugly smile on his face.
The door opened, and Frank came in.
He turned and spoke to someone in the hall outside.
'All right, Ben,' he said quietly,
'Mr de Winter wants to give you some cigarettes.
There's nothing to be frightened of.'
Ben stepped awkwardly into the room. He had his sou'wester in his hands.
He looked odd and naked without his hat.
I realised for the first time that his head was shaved all over, and he had no hair.
He looked different, dreadful.