Racksole smiled at his readiness and aplomb.
'After you,' said Rocco, bowing in his finest manner, and Racksole
stepped into the lift.
With the swiftness of lighting Rocco pushed forward the iron
screen, which locked itself automatically. Theodore Racksole was
hopelessly a prisoner within the lift, while Rocco stood free in the
corridor.
'Good-bye, Mr Racksole,' he remarked suavely, bowing again,
lower than before. 'Good-bye: I hate to take a mean advantage of
you in this fashion, but really you must allow that you have been
very simple. You are a clever man, as I have already said, up to a
certain point. It is past that point that my own cleverness comes in.
Again, good-bye. After all, I shall have no rest to-night, but
perhaps even that will be better that sleeping in a police cell. If you
make a great noise you may wake someone and ultimately get
released from this lift. But I advise you to compose yourself, and
wait till morning. It will be more dignified. For the third time,
good-bye.'
And with that Rocco, without hastening, walked down the corridor
and so out of sight.
Racksole said never a word. He was too disgusted with himself to
speak. He clenched his fists, and put his teeth together, and held
his breath. In the silence he could hear the dwindling sound of
Rocco's footsteps on the thick carpet.
It was the greatest blow of Racksole's life.
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