“Come in!” growled Bob Hampton. “Here’s the cook brought your shaving-water, sir.”
The tapping was repeated, and sounded some little distance off.
“Answer them, whoever it is, Bob,” I said; for this seemed to be something, if not tangible, at all events certain.
There was a little rustling about, and the tapping came again.
“Why don’t you answer them?” I said tetchily.
“What do you mean, sir—shout?”
“No, no; tap again.”
“But there arn’t nothin’ to knock on, sir. It’s no good to hit the top, or the floor.”
“But there must be a partition somewhere,” I said.
“Dessay there is, sir; but I can’t tell where it is.”