They stood together on the dimly lit landing; holding his breath and listening intently, Wolfenden was at once aware of faint, distant sounds. They came from the ground floor almost immediately below them. His father laid his hand heavily upon Wolfenden’s shoulder.
“Some one is in the library,” he said. “I heard the door open distinctly. When I tried to get out I found that the door of my room was locked; there is treachery here!”
“How did you get out?” Wolfenden asked.
“Through the bath-room and down the back stairs; that door was locked too, but I found a key that fitted it. Come with me. Be careful! Make no noise!”
They were on their way downstairs now. As they turned the angle of the broad oak stairway, Wolfenden caught a glimpse of his father’s face, and shuddered; it was very white, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild, his forefinger was already upon the trigger of his revolver.
“Let me have that,” Wolfenden whispered, touching it; “my hand is steadier than yours.”
But the Admiral shook his head; he made no answer in words, but the butt end of the revolver became almost welded into the palm of his hand. Wolfenden began to feel that they were on the threshold of a tragedy. They had reached the ground floor now; straight in front of them was the library door. The sound of muffled movements within the room was distinctly audible. The Admiral’s breath came fast.
“Tread lightly, Wolf,” he muttered. “Don’t let them hear us! Let us catch them red-handed!”
But the last dozen yards of the way was over white flags tesselated, and polished like marble. Wolfenden’s shoes creaked; the Admiral’s tip-toe walk was no light one. There was a sudden cessation of all sounds; they had been heard! The Admiral, with a low cry of rage, leaped forwards. Wolfenden followed close behind.