The Golden Bat by Fred M. White — Read

Within a moment of Barle's whispered confidence in Ray's ears with regard to the progress of events, the latter had faded from the card-room and was sauntering across the hall in the direction of the library. The great hall was more or less in darkness, with only one branch of electrics turned on, and much the same state of affairs obtained in the library. For the Duke was highly considerate as far as his servants were concerned, so that they retired early, and if the guests wanted anything after their departure, they would have to get it themselves. Doubtless Keen had counted on this, but, at any rate, there it was, and Ray made his way into the very dimly-lit library without hearing a sound or seeing a face anywhere. It was very much as if he had the house all to himself, as he stepped softly across the huge Persian carpet and entered a little room that led out of the larger apartment and formed a sort of snuggery where a guest could sit and write if he wanted to be altogether alone. There was no light in there, so that Ray pulled up a chair by the side of the door and sat down to possess his soul in patience until such time as he would be called upon for really vigorous action. He slipped his hand down his right hip-pocket to make sure that his revolver was there. He knew perfectly well that if anything happened to upset the plans of the thieves, they would never be taken without a fight.

At that moment, however, the atmosphere of the card-room was singularly peaceful and placid. Under the shaded lights, five tables had been set out, and round the green cloth as many games were in progress. On the sideboard stood the drinks which the servants had brought in, the cigars and cigarettes, and over everything hung a drifting atmosphere of blue smoke. They all seemed to be very keen on their game, including the host himself. They were good players for the most part, and just then they were thinking about very little else.