He got fairly worn out, and threw himself on his couch without undressing, drew the rug over him, and sank to sleep.
How long he had remained thus he could not say, but he was awoke by a low moan or whine from Gip, who, upon discovering his master awakening, wagged his tail and came to the side of the bed; then he crept towards the door and sniffed at its base.
“Something’s amiss,” whispered our hero. “The sagacious brute hears or noses somebody—that’s quite certain.”
He crept softly to the door, against which he placed his ear.
He heard the sounds of soft footsteps on the outside, but they were so faint as to be hardly audible.
With revolver in hand he awaited the issue.
The dog in the meantime was in an evident state of anxiety.
Peace, before stretching himself on his bed, had taken the precaution to place his lighted chamber-candle in the fireplace, which effectively prevented its feeble rays penetrating into the passage on the outside.
“Somebody or something is stirring,” he muttered. “I can’t stand this state of suspense any longer—so here goes.”
He slid the bolt back as noiselessly as possible, and flung open the door.