I said you could stay as long as you were willing to pay." Kenny changed color.

The invalid chose to misinterpret his interval of constraint.
"So," he said softly, "you don't always pay!" The random shot of inference went home.

It was the first of many.
Kenny fought back his temper.

Affronted, he crossed the room and laid a roll of bills upon the table.

Craig counted them with an irritating show of care.
"That, Mr.O'Neill," he said, "will guarantee my hospitality for the space of a month!" He put the roll of money in the pocket of his bathrobe and Kenny fancied his fingers loathe to leave it.
The drip of the rain and the gusty noise of wind that by daylight had been no more than a melancholy adjunct to the poetry of wet blossoms, became suddenly sinister and tragic and irresistibly atmospheric.
Kenny stared with new vision at the dreadful old man in the bathrobe.
One by one Kenny was fated to solve his mysteries when he wanted to keep them.