Yet even in those first few hours of our acquaintance I had become, like all the others, to some extent the servant of his will, spoken or unspoken.

So I held my peace and looked away into the fire.

I felt he had something to say to me, and I waited.
He moved his head slowly towards the bookcase.
"Those books," he asked, "are yours ?" "Yes," I answered.
"Your name then is Guy Ducaine ?" "Yes." "Did you ever know your father ?" It was a singular question.

I looked at him quickly.

His face was sphinxlike.
"No.