TREACHERY The sunlight was streaming through the window when at last my pen ceased to move.

I rubbed my eyes and looked out in momentary amazement.
Morning had already broken across the sea.

My green-shaded lamp was burning with a sickly light.

The moon had turned pale and colourless whilst I sat at my desk.
I stretched myself and, lighting a cigarette, commenced to collect my papers.

Immediately a dark figure rose from a couch in the farther corner of the room and approached me.
"Can I get you anything, sir ?" I turned in my chair.