I left him arguing with himself, and entered the dark lobby. This time I’d brought a flashlight from the car. I looked into the various rooms that led off the lobby. They were undisturbed, but when I came to the last door at the end of the passage, I found what I expected to find. The room was Brodey’s study. It was big and well-furnished and equipped like an office. Here, a search had been made. Papers were strewn on the floor, desk drawers Herrick’s place. The chairs hadn’t been ripped open, nor had the pictures been taken off the walls.
There was no one in the room, and I stood looking round, wondering what to do next. It was a big house to go over; I didn’t know how many servants were sleeping upstairs: but I had to know if Brodey was dead.
As I turned to the door I heard or sensed something which made me feel I wasn’t alone. I snapped off the flashlight and stood motionless, listening. I heard nothing. The room was as black as tar. I eased the Luger out, and held it down by my side. Still no sound. I crept cautiously to the door, reached it. Nothing happened. I stood listening. No developments. I touched the door, peeped into the passage. It was dark out there and silent. I kept still, listened, and tried to see through the darkness. I stayed there a long minute, listening. There wasn’t a sound in the house, nor in the street outside, yet I was sure I wasn’t alone. I could sense the presence of someone, and that someone wasn’t far off.
I waited, hoping whoever it was out there had weaker nerves than I had. It was a nasty business standing half in and half out of the room in darkness and silence, waiting for someone’s nerve to crack.
Then I heard something. It was an almost soundless sound, and at first I couldn’t place it. After listening carefully I realized it was someone breathing near me. It gave me a spooked feeling.
Slowly I raised my flash until it was pointing in the direction of the breathing. Then I pressed the button, ready to jump if someone opened up with a gun.
The harsh beam of the flashlight lit up the passage. There was a choked gasp of terror which made the hair on the back of my neck bristle. I found myself staring at a girl crouched against the passage wall. She was slight, young, about eighteen, pretty in an immature way; chestnut hair, brown eyes. She was wearing a black and gold kimono and the trousers of her pyjamas were dark blue silk.
She stayed motionless, her eyes empty with terror, her mouth formed in a soundless scream.
I guessed she was Brodey’s daughter.
“Miss Brodey,” I said sharply. “It’s all right. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m looking for your father.”