“I says I could ha’ swore he was there.”
“So could I, Jemmy,” replied the sergeant, as he made the light play round the room again, and let it rest upon the chamber-door.
“There is nothing, you see,” said Stratton, rather quickly.
“Haven’t done yet, sir,” replied the sergeant. Then, in a low voice to Guest—“I’m pretty well used to this sort o’ thing, sir, but ’pon my soul I feel as if I should like to turn that picture round. It’s just as if it was watching me. There, let’s get it over.”
The man had, in spite of his being accustomed to scenes of horror, seemed as if it were necessary to string himself up. He had gone to the table finally to lift the cover, and that had used up a certain amount of nerve force. He was forced to make a call on nature for a further supply.
He strode across to the chamber-door, threw it open, and walked in, the others following and standing just inside, as he made the light play round a well-furnished bedroom where everything was exactly in its place—the bed made, dressing table in perfect order, and a couple of cupboards displaying nothing within but sundry clothes hanging from pegs.
“Arn’t in here,” said the sergeant, after a final look round. “Been no struggle—no sign of anyone having been took ill. Don’t like one thing, Jem,” he added.
“Well,” said the man, “if you mean, pardner, that everything looks too tidy, and as if things had been straightened up all but the table-kiver, that’s just what I was a-thinking.”
“Right,” said the sergeant; “that was the one thing forgotten or left in the hurry.”
“Oh, no,” said Guest quickly. “I see we have raised a false alarm.”