"How long do you suppose we were waiting in the dark?" he asked Jim. "Anyhow, it was long enough for Sanders and Mr. Francis to have taken most of the plate. I had thought they would do that after—afterward. Now, where is the plate, and where is Sanders?"
"Can't say, sir," said Jim.
The match which had showed the disorder of the place had burned out, and the doctor, still frowning over the next step, had just lit another, when from outside there rang out the sharp ping of a rifle shot.
"That is Geoffrey!" he said, "and what in God's name is happening? Upstairs again."
They groped their way back along the basement to the door leading into the hall. Close to this went up the back stairs forming the servants' communication with the upper story, and, seeing these, the doctor clicked his tongue against his teeth.
"That's how we missed him," he said; "he went this way up to Mr. Francis, while we were going down the front stairs."
"Yes, sir," said Jim.
They passed through into the hall, and a draught of cold air met them. There was no longer any reason for secret movements, and the doctor turned on the electric light. The front door was open, and the wreaths of dense mist streamed in.
"Go and see if you can help Mr. Geoffrey, Jim," he said, "if you can find him. It is clear that Sanders has left the house: who else could have opened that door? I must see to that which we left upstairs."