As he ran along the hall to the staircase he met two of the maids, who with white faces and hands clasped in front of them seemed too frightened to move.
“Where was it?” asked Crewe. “Upstairs?”
“Yes, sir, upstairs,” said one of them.
“It came from Mr. Marsland’s room,” added the other, in an awed whisper.
Crewe ran straight for Marsland’s room, expecting to find there some evidence of a tragedy. As he burst into the room he saw to his great relief that Marsland was there, leaning out of the window.
“What is it?” asked Crewe. “Did you fire a revolver?”
Marsland, who was wearing a dressing-gown, came from the window. In his right hand he was holding a big revolver.
“I missed him,” he said.
“Missed whom?”
“A burglar.”