Then he heard something—a little, weak cry, followed by silence. He drew back a step, and he saw the Colonel standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Shall I go in?” Clifford asked.
The Colonel hesitated.
“Is the door locked?” he asked.
Clifford tried it, and found that it was.
“Then come away,” said Colonel Bostal, quickly.
At that moment there was a thundering knock at the front door, which threatened to split the old wood into fragments. The Colonel walked slowly along the passage, and, with as much delay as possible, drew the bolts and opened the door.
Clifford, still on the upper floor, knew that the voices were those of the police-sergeant and of another constable belonging to Stroan.
“You’ve been a long time opening the door, sir,” began the sergeant, dryly.
But the master of the house had not waited to inquire his visitor’s business; he had already retreated into the dining-room.