“The door must be here somewhere,” he muttered. “Yes, there.”
It was plain enough where the door was now, for a light shone beneath it, and the sides looked light, showing its shape, just as another peal came from knocker and bell.
He had just time to drop down behind the sofa when the door opened, and the Master of the Ceremonies appeared in his long dressing-gown, candle in hand, crossed the drawing-room, and, opening the farther door, went through, and it swung to, leaving the intruder once more in darkness.
He started up again as he heard the rattle of locks and bolts below, and made for the window, meaning to escape by it as soon as those who had alarmed the house had entered.
“Curse him! Mellersh left to watch,” he muttered, as voices were heard from below—loud and angry voices—mingled with those of remonstrance.
“I tell you we saw a man climb up and enter by the balcony,” came up; and in his alarm and horror the intruder knocked over an ornament now, as he made for the door that led to the bedrooms—his last chance of escaping unseen.
“Ah, there she is,” he said beneath his breath, as the door was made visible once more by the rays of light all round.
“Come up, then, and I will search the place,” came from below.
“Don’t be alarmed: I’m going to see,” said a voice outside the door leading to the upper staircase; and the next moment the door opened, and Claire, in her white dressing-gown, entered candle in hand.
“Sir Harry Payne!” she cried, as the light fell on the figure of the visitor.