Explore "The Yellow Face" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Meanwhile, it is necessary to go back for a few moments to the garden and summer-house where Jack had been waiting, to see who was going to keep the assignation with Anstruther. On the whole, it was not unpleasant work, seeing that the night was very fine and warm, and at the same time dark and velvety. There were not many gardens in London as finely proportioned as those behind Barmouth's residence. It was wonderful, in the midst of that atmosphere, that flowers and shrubs could flourish so kindly. There were not many paths, most of the ground being given over to turf, so that Jack's feet made no noise as he walked along in the direction of the green gate which gave upon the lane beyond.
The gate turned out to be a door in the wall hidden from view inside by a deep belt of shrubs. It was here that Jack hid himself, and stood smoking his cigar with a determination to stay there all night if necessary. The best part of an hour had elapsed before there was a noise outside, and a hand turned the latch. Jack dropped his cigar, and ground it into the soft earth with the heel of his slipper. By this time his eyes had got accustomed to the darkness, so that it was not a difficult matter to make out the outlines of the approaching figure. The figure was that of a woman, evidently dressed for the evening, and wearing a mask.