There was a moment of taut suspense I can never forget. He stared down at me, obviously at first incredulous. A slight twitch ran across his face, nothing more; beyond a trifling extra bend of the head, he made no movement. He was judging me, weighing my words, wondering if they were true. The next second I saw that he believed me. What happened then to his face I had never seen before, though I was often to see it afterwards in other faces during my criminal experience. The skin slowly blanched to the hue of flour; the cheeks sagged; the mouth opened; the look in his eyes was dreadful. The whole face disintegrated, as it were. He had the air of a hunted animal at bay. At the same time there was a convulsive movement of his entire body that frightened me. I did not know what he was going to do. It was really made up of several movements, one starting after another. First, his knees gave way and he nearly collapsed. Then, evidently, he considered the possibility of knocking me down and dashing out of the room. His eyes ran swiftly over everything at once, it seemed, noticing the razor certainly, but finding me awkwardly between him and the end of the table where it lay. He half turned in the direction of the window behind him, thinking doubtless of escape by the leads outside. He gave finally a sort of lurch towards me, but this I did not actually see, for I had turned away and was crawling painfully over to the door. It was Grant who supplied this detail of description later. His idea, probably, was to knock me down and make a bolt for it. But, whatever it was he really intended to do, in the end he did nothing, for at this second Grant emerged suddenly from his cupboard. I was already leaning with my back against the door and caught the look of terror and blank amazement that came into Boyde’s face, as he saw another man whom he certainly took at first for the detective. He stood stock still like a petrified figure. A moment later he recognized him as the Englishman he had met at the cricket match. He subsided backwards, half on to the window-sill and half against the dressing-table. The drama of the scene suddenly occurred to me for the first time, as I watched Grant walk over and put the razor in his pocket, and then sit down quietly on the sofa. He spoke no single word. He merely sat and watched. With my back against the door I then went on talking quickly. Yet behind my anger and disgust, I felt the old pity surge up; already I was sorry for him; I would presently forgive him. But, first, there was something else to be done. The plan lay quite clear in my mind.