And on the ceiling the shadow moved, and changed its shape, now dwindling, now growing larger again, now disappearing altogether as though the intruder stooped below the level of the lamp; and once there was flung on the white plaster the huge image of an arm which had something in its hand.

Was the arm poised above the lamp, on the point of smashing it with the thing it held?
Chayne waited, with a cry upon his lips, expecting each moment that the room would be plunged in darkness.

But the cry was not uttered, the arm was withdrawn.
It had not been raised to smash the lamp, the thing which the hand held was for some other purpose.

And once more the shadow appeared moving and changing as the intruder crept nearer to the window.

Sylvia stood motionless.