Garraboy, with his malicious smile, perceiving that Bloodgood’s hatred was purely financial, chuckled to himself, took a couple of glasses in rapid succession, and returned to the table under perfect control, not without a scowl at the other end of the table, where Nan Charters and young Beecher were laughingly disputing the possession of the pepper-shaker. A moment later, as Mrs. Cheever was exclaiming at their hostess’ prolonged delay to Garraboy, who was dipping into the lobster à la Newburg, which he was preparing to serve, Mrs. Kildair slipped into the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it, at the same moment, with the same uncontrollable nervous start. "Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Garraboy, with a twitch of his arms. "You come in on us like a Greek tragedy. What is the surprise?" As he spoke, Beecher, looking up, saw her turn suddenly on him, drawing her forehead together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line. "I have something to say to you all," she said in a quiet, discordant voice, while her eyes ran restlessly through the company with a predatory sharpness. There was no mistaking the gravity in her voice. Garraboy extinguished the oil-lamp, covering the chafing-dish clumsily with a disagreeable tinny sound; Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Bloodgood swung about abruptly; Maud Lille rose a little from her seat; Nan Charters, dramatically sensitive, seized unconsciously the arm of young Beecher; while the men, with the exception of Slade, who still watched Majendie like a terrier, imitated their movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the feet. "Mr. Bloodgood." "Yes, Mrs. Kildair?" "Kindly do as I ask." "Certainly." She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost an accusation. He rose, placing his napkin carefully at the side of his plate, raising his short eyebrows a little in surprise. "Go to the vestibule," she continued, immediately shifting her glance from him to the others. "Are you there? Shut the sliding doors that lead into the studio. Lock them. Bring me the key." He executed the order without bungling, while the company, in growing amazement, fascinated, watched his squat figure returning with the key. "You’ve locked it?" she said, making the question an excuse to bury her glance in his. "As you wished me to." "Thanks." She took from him the key, and, shifting slightly, likewise locked the door into her bedroom through which she had come. Then, transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware of Bloodgood, who still composedly awaited her further instructions, her eyes studied a moment the possibilities of the apartment and then returned to her guests. "Mr. Cheever," she said abruptly. "Yes, Mrs. Kildair." "Put out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table."