"Hush!" whispered Blossom, "do you hear any noise?"
Advancing on tip-toe, he crouched against the door on the right, and listened. In an instant he came back to the head of the stairs, where stood Mr. Somers, shaking in every nerve.
"It's a snore," said Blossom, "jist go and listen, and see if it's your son's snore."
It required much persuasion to induce the merchant prince to take the step.
"Where are your men?"
Blossom pointed over the merchant's shoulder, to the landing beneath. There, in the gloom, stood the six figures, shoulder to shoulder, and as motionless as stone.
"Now will you go?"
Mr. Somers advanced, and placed his head against the door on the right. After a brief pause, he returned to the head of the stairs where Blossom stood. "It is not my son's snore," he said, "that is, if I am any judge of snores."
Blossom took the light and the keys, and advanced to the door on the right, which he gently tried to open, but found it locked. Making a gesture of caution to the merchant prince, he selected the key of the door from the bunch, softly inserted it, and as softly turned it in the lock. The door opened with a sound. Then stepping on tip-toe, he crossed the threshold, taking the light with him.
Mr. Somers, left alone in the dark, felt his heart march to his throat.