The House of Mammon by Fred M. White

While fumbling in his pockets for his safety match box, Mascani felt the wings licking against his face and dipping over his head. His presence had alarmed the little creatures; perhaps the opening of the window had had something to do with it. He was growing used to the situation, though puzzled as to what he should do next. Box in hand, he ruminated for a few seconds; to do nothing was a mere waste of time, to light a match was hazardous. But the risk had to be taken, especially in view of the discovery he had already made. He could accomplish nothing by remaining where he was, so he look a match from the box and struck it, carefully shielding the light in the hollow of his hand.

Almost instantly the rustle of wings ceased and the birds fluttered back to cages that lined the walls. The place was a mass of loose cages, arranged one on top of the other; as to the birds, they were the ordinary denizens of wood and hedgerow. Mascani was conscious that a hundred pairs of beady eyes were turned upon him curiously.