“A man! A man in the house!” thought the terrified girl. And then, remarking a single peculiarity of the mysterious figure, she whispered: “Not a man, but a boy. Goodness! who can it be?”
Quick as a flash Agnes Kenway ran to the door leading into the front hall, by which she had entered. She opened it and slipped into the hall. Neglecting her candle which she had placed on the floor for safety, she crept back toward the darker end of the hall.
There was an “elbow” in the passage behind the front stairway and she could not see beyond this. But she heard a sound—the unmistakable sound of a bolt being drawn.
Was the mysterious visitor at the porch door? Was he leaving the house? And how had he got in?
Agnes waited breathlessly for some further noise. But there was none.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. The seconds were being ticked off in a ghostly fashion by the tall clock behind her.
Agnes crouched in the corner and trembled. Usually she was brave; but the experiences of the last half hour had gotten upon the girl’s nerves.
At last she could remain quiet no longer. She stole to the rear of the dark hall—past the sitting room door and beyond leading into the dining room, and through which the boy had passed.
This end of the passage was comparatively narrow. Agnes could be sure that nobody was hiding here, for some light filtered down the back stairway from the floor above.
Before her was the door of the porch. She fumbled for the knob, and found it. She opened the door easily. This was the bolt she had heard drawn.