“It’s probably Bill himself,” I said. “I found him down there last night walking in his sleep.”
“The devil you did!” muttered Jack, and at that moment Dick Armytage came in.
“Bill’s room is empty,” he announced; and I nodded.
“It’s Bill right enough,” I said. “He went back quite quietly last night. And, for Heaven’s sake, you fellows, don’t wake him. It’s very dangerous.”
Just as before the dining-room door was open, and the light filtered through into the passage as we tiptoed along it. Just as before we saw Bill standing by the table—his hand outstretched.
Then came the same words as I had heard last night.
“You lie, Sir Henry!—you lie!”
“What the devil——” muttered Jack; but I held up my finger to ensure silence.
“He’ll come to bed now,” I whispered. “Keep quite still.”
But this time Bill Sibton did not come to bed; instead, he turned and stared into the shadows of the musicians’ gallery. Then, very slowly, he walked away from us and commenced to mount the stairs. And still the danger did not strike us.