Terror Keep

The quiet moment after the explosion, when a careful man begins tidying himself.

There was an explosion that deafened him; the air was suddenly filled with flying clouds of smoke and dust; he heard the crackle of wood and the pungent scent of something burning. Dazed and stupefied, he stood stock still, gaping up at Mr. Reeder, who was sitting on a stair, picking little splinters of wood from his coat.

The first meeting where one person's face becomes a test of another's manners.

It was obviously Mr. Daver himself. A tall, thin man of fifty, with a yellow, elflike face and a smile that brought all her sense of humour into play. Very badly she wanted to laugh. The long upper lip overhung the lower, and except that the face was thin and lined, he had the appearance of some grotesque and foolish mascot. The staring, round brown eyes, the puckered forehead, and a twist of hair that stood upright on the crown of his head made him more brownie-like than ever.

A parcel small enough to fit in a pocket, and impossible to read.

The parcel came at three o’clock that afternoon, when Mr. Reeder had returned from his frugal lunch, which he invariably took at a large and popular tea shop in Whitehall. It was a very small parcel, about three inches square; it was registered and had been posted in London. He weighed it carefully, shook it and listened, but the lightness of the package precluded any possibility of there being concealed behind the paper wrapping anything that bore a resemblance to an infernal machine. He cut the paper tape that fastened it, took off the paper, and there was revealed a small cardboard box such as jewellers use. Removing the lid, he found a small pad of cotton-wool, and in the midst of this three gold rings, each with three brilliant diamonds. He put them on his blotting pad and gazed at them for a long time.