His first characteristic instinct had been to enter openly at his own front gate, but the terrible temptation to overhear and watch the conspiracy unobserved--that fascination common to deceived humanity to witness its own shame--had now grown upon him.

He knew that a word or gesture of explanation, apology, appeal, or even terror from his wife would check his rage and weaken his purpose.

His perfect knowledge of the house and the security of its inmates would enable him from some obscure landing or gallery to participate in any secret conclave they might hold in the patio--the only place suitable for so numerous a rendezvous.

The absence of light in the few external windows pointed to this central gathering.

And he had already conceived his plan of entrance.
Gaining the rear wall of the casa he began cautiously to skirt its brambly base until he had reached a long, oven-like window half obliterated by a monstrous passion vine.