White with rage, Spedding stood amidst his ill-assorted bodyguard. In the searching white light of the electric lamps there was no mistaking their character. He saw the commissionaire eying them curiously.
“I understood,” he said slowly, “that the guard had been relieved.”
“No, sir,” said the man, and the cluster of uniformed men at the door of the inner hall confirmed this.
“I sent orders this afternoon,” said Spedding between his teeth.
“No orders have been received, sir,” and the lawyer saw the scrutinizing eye of the soldierly sentry pass over his confederates.
“Is this the relief?” asked the guard, not attempting to conceal the contempt in his tone.
“Yes,” said the lawyer.
As the sentry saluted and disappeared into the hall Spedding drew Connor aside.
“This is ruin,” he said quickly. “The safe must be cleared to-night. To-morrow London will not hold me.”
The sentry reappeared at the doorway and beckoned them in. They shuffled into the great hall, where in the half darkness the safe loomed up from its rocky pedestal, an eerie, mysterious thing. He saw Bat Sands glancing uncomfortably around the dim spaces of the building, and felt the impression of the loneliness.