“There's a lot of secret doors and such like in this part of the house—let's hope there'll be nothing coming through one of them,” said Mr. Gallosh in a breaking voice.
The Baron muttered an inaudible reply, and then with a start their shoulders bumped together.
“Damn it, what's yon!” whispered Mr. Gallosh.
“Ze pipes! Gallosh, how beastly he does play!”
In point of fact the air seemed to consist of only one wailing note.
“Bong!”—they heard the first stroke of midnight on the big clock on the Castle Tower; and so unfortunately had Count Bunker timed the candle that on the instant its flame expired.
“Vithdraw ze curtains!” gasped the Baron.
“I canna, my lord! Oh, I canna!” wailed Mr. Gallosh, breaking out into his broadest native Scotch.
This time the Baron made no movement, and in the palpitating silence the two sat through one long dark minute after another, till some ten of them had passed.
“I shall stand it no more!” muttered the Baron. “Ve vill creep for ze door.”