‘Anyone with him?’
‘Yes, sir; some gentlemen.’
‘How long have they been here?’
‘Not long. They came unexpected, sir.’
‘Well, see that you don’t mix yourself up in anything that may occur. Which is the library door?’
The man pointed to a mahogany door at the end of the long, lofty hall. Richard opened it, and found himself, not in a library, but in a small rectangular windowless apartment, clearly intended for the reception of hats and coats. Suspecting a ruse, he stepped quickly into the hall.
‘Not that door, the next one,’ said the man, quietly enough. Richard followed the man’s instructions, and very silently opened the next door. A large room disclosed itself, with a long table down the centre of it. The place did not bear much resemblance to a library. It was, in fact, the breakfast-room, and the library lay beyond it. At the furthest corner, opposite another door, a man was seated on a chair. His eyes seemed to be glued on to the door which he watched.
‘Come along, Terrell,’ this man whispered, without moving his head, as Richard entered.
Richard accordingly came along, and was upon the man in the chair before the latter had perceived that another than Terrell—whoever Terrell might be—had thrust himself into the plot.
‘Silence!’ said Richard; ‘I am a detective. Come out.’