“I say, who are you, sir?” cried Stratton furiously.
“James Barron, my dear sir—the lady’s husband.”
“Good God!”
Chapter Two.
Two Shots from a Revolver.
Malcolm Stratton started back with his eyes wild and his face ghastly, just as there was the faint sound of steps on the stone stairs, and directly after someone gave a long-continued double knock on the outer door.
“Company, eh?” said the man, rising. “Get rid of him. I’ve a lot to say. I’ll go in here.”
He went straight to the doorway on the right of the fireplace.