The knocker once more raised the echoes of the weird-looking old staircase, and then died out above with a peculiar whisper, while Guest’s heart sank within his breast as a dozen fancies now took possession of him, and horror prevailed.
“We cannot stay here,” said Miss Jerrold. “Mr Guest, will you see me to my carriage again? Mr Stratton must be out. Gone to Bourne Square, and we have passed him on the way.”
“No!” thundered the admiral; “he is within there, hiding, like the cur he is, and afraid to face me!”
Guest turned upon him angrily.
“Come away, sister,” growled the old man; “I am right.”
“No, sir; I swear you are wrong,” cried Guest.
“What? Why, I saw the change in your face, man, when I heard a rustling noise in there. You heard it too. Deny it if you can.”
Guest was silent for a moment, and he stood with his eyes fixed upon the letter-box, as if expecting to see the cover of the slit move.
“I am not going to deny it, sir; I did hear a sound,” he said. “If he is here he shall come out and face you, and tell the truth and reason of his absence. It is illness, I am sure.”
As he spoke he once more seized the knocker and beat out a heavy roulade.