‘If you please,’ Teresa replied eagerly, and Richard stepped within. The women followed.
He struck a match, which revealed a low bookcase to the left, and on this a candle. He lighted the candle.
‘Stay here,’ he said, ‘and I will search the house.’
‘Sure,’ said Bridget, ‘we’ll stand or fall together. Where you go, me and the mistress go too.’
Richard could not avoid a smile. Together, then, they searched the house from roof to cellar, and found—nothing at all. Apparently not a single thing had been displaced or touched. What could have been the origin of the light which they had seen? Had Mr. Craig returned only to depart again? They stood in the hall asking these questions, which they were unable to answer. Bridget, however, assured that there was nothing of an unusual nature within the house, recovered her wits, and set to work to light lamps in the hall, drawing-room, and kitchen. Richard and Teresa were alone together in the hall. Richard, glancing idly round, stooped down and picked from the floor a gold-handled riding-whip which lay almost under the bookcase. It was a lady’s whip.
‘A pretty whip,’ he remarked. ‘Yours, I suppose?’
Teresa went very white.
‘It isn’t mine,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen it before. I——’
At that very moment there was the sound of hoofs on the gravel of the drive. Richard started for the door, but Teresa clutched him and held him back with an action almost mechanical. Her eyes showed apprehension, mingled with another feeling which Richard almost thought was joy. The hoofs came up the drive and stopped in front of the door, still ajar. The two within the house could just discern the legs of a horse and the skirt of a riding-habit. The rider jumped down, and then cautiously pushed against the door.
‘Juana!’ cried Teresa, and rushed into the arms of the newcomer.