The Duke's anxiety to make sure that the clerically dressed individual had really left the house had impressed her; and now, too late for inquiry, she remembered that she had omitted to mention that two men had called, one of them not having been shown into her presence. The latter, Prince had said, had been dismissed by his colleague; but his departure had only been witnessed by William, the second footman—a dreamy servant at the best of times, and unreliable by reason of a hopeless attachment to the senior housemaid. The thought thrilled Sybil that the other man, having hoodwinked the footman, might still be in the house, concealed in one of the many unused rooms.
The idea of a lurking prowler, biding his time in the stillness of the sleeping household, kept her wakeful. Once or twice she looked out into the corridor; but the flicker of her candle only showed two rows of closed doors, without a sign of life, and each time she went back and tried to fix her attention on a book. So the night dragged into the small hours; and about three o'clock, after a longer interval than before, she determined to take one more peep and then get into bed.
She had already grasped the door-handle, when she withdrew her hand as though it had been stung by an adder. A faint scrooping sound told her that someone was doing something in the corridor, and half a minute's strained listening told her that, whatever that something was, it was persistent and continuous. It went on and on, like the drone of a bee in a bottle.
Silently crossing the room, she turned down her gas to a pin-point and blew out the candle with which she had intended to investigate. Then she returned to the door, and, opening it noiselessly, tiptoed into the outer darkness. Here the sound, though still faint, was more distinctly audible, and she was able to locate it at the door of the room occupied by the Duke. The discovery left her no time for fear, or even for conjecture. There was only one thing to be done—to rouse Alec and the Duke, but without, till that supreme moment, alarming the unseen manipulator at her cousin's door. Thus would she narrow the time at the disposal of that mysterious person for revising his plans and effecting his escape.
The thick pile carpet made for silence, and she stole quietly along the broad passage, touching and counting the doors till she reached that of Forsyth's room—only a few feet from the gentle buz-buz that had attracted her attention, and only a few feet from someone stealthily at work in the dark. A steady snore from the interior of the Duke's chamber explained his complacence under that uncanny tampering with his approaches.
Again giving herself no time for fear, Sybil beat a rat-tat on Forsyth's door, calling him by name. The sound at the next door immediately ceased, an instant of intense silence following, and then almost simultaneously two things happened. An iron grip settled on the girl's wrist, just as Forsyth flung open the door of his room, in which he had wisely turned the gas full on as he leaped out of bed. The light streamed into the corridor and shone upon a man in shabby tweeds and bowler hat, who was holding Sybil, but not so hampered that he was prevented from drawing a revolver and aiming straight at Forsyth's head.
"The procession of three led by the stranger."
Whether he intended to fire or offer an ultimatum was not demonstrated, for before he could do either he was taken in the rear and found himself a target. There stood the Duke in his pajamas, with a handy little Smith and Wesson not a foot from the intruder's temples, and with his left hand significantly extended.
"Give me that pistol," he said, sternly.