“It is that blessed creature snoring—breathing, I mean,” was his first thought. But no, it was in too rapid a measure for that. Then the sound waxed louder, and he recognised that it was of footsteps steadily ascending the stairs. “The watchman, coming to make sure of the lights,” he thought, with re-assurance.
But this hypothesis fell to the ground also.
The footsteps mounted to the landing close outside. The noise ceased, and then there came the unmistakable jingle of a key—nay, the very grating of it in the lock of the door opposite.
David’s veins, for a confused moment, ran cold. Then, with an excited ejaculation, he ran to his door, and flung it open.
“Stop that, you idiot!” he commanded, in muffled but ferocious tones.
“Ah, Davie, Davie! Still at the bottle!” replied a well-known voice from out of the obscurity.
CHAPTER VI.
Mosscrop groaned at recognition of the voice in the dark.