“I think so,” returned Ford. “I should probably leave here to-morrow.”
“Well, of all queer detectives!” said Barry Stannard, as they went from the room and heard the click of the key as it was turned in the door behind them.
True to his word, Alan Ford examined with minutest care every door and window. He made sure no lock or catch was left unfastened, and then, the lights burning brightly, he took his seat just where he had said he would, facing the chair in which Eric Stannard had met his fate. Also, he faced the two doors that led respectively to the Billiard Room and the Terrace. This left more than half the room behind him and out of his line of vision. But the detective paid no attention to that part of the studio, and rested his contemplative gaze on the great armchair which had helped to stage the tragedy.
The hours went by. Alan Ford scarcely moved from the easy, relaxed position he had taken at first. He closed his eyes for the most of the time, now and then slowly opening them for a moment.
His left hand, lying on his knee, clasped some small object.
It was shortly after three o’clock in the morning, when there was the sound of a click and the lights went out.
The studio was in absolute darkness.
Ford rose quickly and crossed the room to the light switch by the hall door. He knew the position of the furniture, and felt his way by the chairs. As he did so, he heard a long, gasping sigh, and a faint cry of “Help!”
By this time he had reached the switch and turned it on. The sudden flash of light showed no one in the room save himself, but not pausing to look about, he unlocked the hall door, passed quickly through and ran up the first steps of the stairs.
On he went to the second great square landing, and there he paused. He did not stand still, but stepped about on the landing, making exclamations to himself, and breathing heavily. He leaned against the baluster, tapping on the newel post with his fingers. Then, he sat down on the lowest step of the third or upper division of the flight. He sat, tapping his foot against the stair, he even whistled a little under his breath. He seemed anxious not to be silent.