Silence.
Slowly, during interminable minutes, Rampole moved up the staircase. A dim glow shone from the open door of the Governor's Room. Putting the electric torch in his pocket, he took Dorothy's cold and wet hand. His shoes squeaked a trifle, but the rats were squeaking, too. He moved down the corridor and peered round the edge of the door.
A candle in a holder was burning on the centre table. At the table, Dr. Fell sat motionless, his chin in his hand, his stick propped against his leg. On the wall behind him the candlelight reared a shadow which was curiously like that of the Rodin statue. And, sitting up on its haunches beneath the canopy of old Anthony's bed, a great grey rat was looking at Dr. Fell with shiny, sardonic eyes.
"Come in, children," Dr. Fell said, scarcely glancing at the door. "I confess I was reassured when I knew it was you."
Chapter 13
Rampole let the stick slide through his hand until its ferrule clanged on the floor; then he leaned on it. He said, "Dr. — " and found that his voice had gone into a crazy key,
The girl was laughing, pressing her hand to her mouth.
"We thought―" Rampole said, swallowing.
"Yes," nodded the doctor, "you thought I was the murderer, or a ghost. I was afraid you might see my candle from Yew Cottage and come over to investigate, but there was no way to block the window. Look here, my dear girl, you'd better sit down. I admire your nerve in coming up here. As for me―"
From his pocket he took an old-style derringer revolver and weighed the heavy weapon in his palm reflectively. He wheezed, nodding again.