It might have been connected with visions of another possible half-crown, or it might have been in an honest desire to do his duty as a guardian of the public safety. At any rate, John Whyley gave a vigorous tug at Dr Chartley’s night-bell and waited.
“No answer; that’s a suspicious fact,” he said to himself; and he rang again, listened, waited, and rang again.
Hardly had the wire ceased to grate, when a curious whispering voice, close to his ear, said “What is it?” so strangely that John, who had only been a year in London, bounded back into the snow, and half drew his truncheon.
“What is it? Who’s there?” came then.
“What a fool I am! Speaking trumpet!” muttered the man, and directing his light toward the doorpost he saw a raised patch of snow, which upon being removed displayed a hole.
To this, full of confidence now, John Whyley applied his lips.
“Police!” he said. “Anything wrong?” There was a pause, and then the same strange voice came again.
“Wait. I’ll come down.”
Waiting was cold work, and John Whyley took at trot up, and was returning when he saw a dim light shine through the long glazed slits at the sides of the principal door, and directly after he heard a click a if a candlestick were set down on a marble slab, and one of the narrow windows showed a human shape in a misty way.
The bull’s-eye was turned on, and, after the momentary glimpse of a face, the rattling of a chain was heard and the front-door was opened a few inches to reveal a pale, haggard, but very handsome face, with large lustrous eyes, which looked dilated and strange.