Instantly the movement ceased. After perhaps twenty seconds it was renewed, but with a difference. The stealth had become hasty.
The two men stared at one another. Then—
"Better go in," said Orphan, with his hand on the latch.
This yielded to pressure, and the next moment the door was open.
The atmosphere prevailing in the little chamber was uninviting. There was a fire glowing upon the hearth, and the room was unpleasantly hot. From the reek of a pungent tobacco emerged an unsavoury smell of something which was not fuel, burning. Scattered about the red-brick floor were black feathers without number, and here and there amid the plumage appeared the muddy print of feet. Perched upon the logs was a pot bubbling, and by the side of the hearth an old pair of boots emitted wisps of steam. Lyveden himself was nowhere to be seen.
Plowman looked round wide-eyed, and Orphan blew disgustedly through his nose.
The former raised his voice.
"Major Lyveden," he called, smiling, "may I come in?"
There was no answer.
The two conferred in a whisper. Then Plowman cleared his throat.