Then, at a gesture from Gavin, he pulled them halfway open again, and, standing in the doorway, drew his bow across the strings.
Gavin sat down on the long hall couch, a yard outside the music-room door, beside Claire and the still stupefied Milo.
The Jap took up his position back of them, alert and tense as a fox terrier.

The three Secret Service men in the front doorway stood at attention, yet evidently wondering at the prisoner's queer freak.
From under the deftly wielded bow, the violin wailed forth into stray chords and phrases, wild, unearthly, discordant.
Hade, his face bent over the instrument, swayed in time with its undisciplined rhythm.
Then, from dissonance and incoherence, the music merged into Gounod's Ave Maria.

And, from swaying, Hade began to walk.
To and fro, urged by the melody, his feet strayed.

Now he was in full view, between the half-open curtains.

Now, he was hidden for an instant, and then he was crossing once more before the opening.
His playing was exquisite.