When I opened the door

When I opened the door of the flat I found everything in deep darkness. I set an occasional table rocking in the hall and something Venetian tinkled into fragments on the floor. When I drew the curtains the Venetian glasses had no glitter - they had gone dead like unused pearls. There was a scurf of correspondence on the floor among the broken glass, but it consisted mainly of circulars and I didn't bother to examine them for a moment. I went into my aunt's bedroom with a sense of shame - yet hadn't she asked me to see that all was in order? I remembered how meticulously Colonel Hakim had explored the hotel room and how easily he had been outwitted, but I could see no candles anywhere, except in the kitchen where they were of a normal size and weight- presumably a genuine precaution against an electric failure.
I returned to the sitting-room and began to go through the post. One day mu aunt might send me a forwarding address, but in any case I wanted to save anything remotely personal from the scrutiny of Woodrow and Sparrow if they came. My old acquaintance Omo had written, and there were various bills from a laundry, a wine-merchant's, a grocer's. I was surprised not to find a bank statement, but remembering the gold brick and the suitcase stuffed with notes. I thought that perhaps my aunt preferred to keep a closer look among the dresses she had left behind, for it would be dangerous to leave cash about in the empty flat.
From the book "Travels with my aunt" by Graham Greene