He could distinctly hear the loud pulsation and wild, excited beatings of his own vile heart as there he stood with wild eyes peering up the broad dark staircase.
“All is still,” he said, and prepared to ascend to the sick man’s room.
Each step was taken cautiously, and with cat-like softness.
But the stairs were old, and creaked with a warning sound.
He had reached the first landing, and stood in a dark recess to recover his breath.
Onward he went.
He could see the light streaming through the keyhole of the old man’s bed-room.
There remained now but one more flight of stairs.
The first step he took was arrested by an ominous click, which sounded like the cocking of a gun!
Bolton’s eyes now glared like two burning coals in the darkness around him.