Nicholas Fenn had apparently finished or discontinued his efforts.

He was seated in front of his desk, his chin almost resting upon his folded arms, and a cigarette between his lips.
Bright was lounging in an easy-chair within a few feet of him.

Their heads were close together; their conversation, whatever the subject of it may have been, was conducted in whispers.

Apparently they had not heard Julian's knock, for they started apart, when the door was opened, like conspirators.

There was something half-fearful, half-malicious in Fenn's face, as he stared at them.
"What are you doing here ?" he demanded.