He finally decided to stand where he was and let his father come upon him there, and he stood erect, puffing rapidly at the cigarette, which glowed like a firefly in the darkness.
The steps came nearer and Calumet heard a slight creak--the sound made by the dining-room door as it swung slowly open.

A faint light filled the opening thus made in the doorway, and Calumet knew that his father had come without a light--that the faint glow came from a distance, possibly from the kitchen, just beyond the dining-room.

The lighted space in the doorway grew wider until it extended to the full width of the doorway.

And a man stood in it, rigid, erect, motionless.
Calumet stood in silent appreciation of the oddness of the situation--he had come like a thief in the night--until he remembered the cigarette in his mouth; that its light was betraying his position.
He reached up, withdrew the cigarette, and held it concealed in the palm of his hand.
But he was the fraction of a second too late.

His father had seen the light; was aware of his presence.