"Indeed?" said his uncle huffily. "I shall be surprised, nevertheless, if you can tell me what book it occurs in."
"Curiosities of Literature," said Amberley without hesitation. "I didn't know you had the book."
Sir Humphrey, pleased to find his nephew more widely read than he had imagined, unbent and said that he had borrowed the book from Fountain that morning. He presently made another attempt to read a passage aloud was still more firmly checked. "Do you remember this bit, Frank?" he began.
"Yes," said Mr. Amberley.
Sir Humphrey informed him that his manners were intolerable. By way of working off his spleen he said acidly that he trusted Frank did not intend to wake the whole household up in the small hours that night as he had last night.
Mr. Amberley, who had heard his uncle snoring as he had passed his door at four that morning, grinned and said meekly that there would be no disturbance tonight.
He was mistaken. At twenty minutes past two the silence of the house was shattered by a crash that woke not only Sir Humphrey, but his wife and his nephew also.
The noise had seemed to come from the drawing room, and it was followed by complete stillness.
Amberley came softly out of his room with a gun in one hand and a torch in the other, and stood for a moment listening intently.
A board creaked somewhere below; Amberley began to descend the stairs in the darkness, making no sound.