“No, I looked through the keyhole.”
“Oh, indeed; is that a habit of yours?”
Dummel blushed deeply, but his eyes flashed, and he looked angry.
“No, it is not, sir,” he growled. “I only did it this time because I was anxious about the master. He’s been so worked up and nervous the last few days. Last night I went to the theatre, as I always do Saturday evenings. When I returned, about half-past ten it was, I knocked at the door of his bedroom. He didn’t answer, and I walked away softly, so as not to disturb him in case he’d gone to sleep already. The hall was dark, and as I went through it I saw a ray of light coming from the keyhole of the Professor’s study. That surprised me, because he never worked as late as that before. I thought it over a moment, then I crept up and looked through the keyhole.”
“And what did you see?”
“He sat at his desk, quite quiet. So I felt easy again, and went off to bed.”
“Why didn’t you go into the room?”
“I didn’t dare, sir. The Professor never wanted to be disturbed when he was writing.”
“Well, and this morning?”
“I got up at the usual time this morning, set the breakfast table, and then knocked at the Professor’s bedroom door to waken him. He didn’t answer, and I thought he might want to sleep, seeing as it was Sunday, and he was up late last night. So I waited until ten o’clock. Then I knocked again and tried the door, but it was locked. That made me uneasy, because he never locked his bedroom door before. I banged at the door and called out, but there wasn’t a sound. Then I ran to the police station.”