“Hello,” said the former with a startled look, but a manner expressive of relief. “I thought I heard somebody shuffling around out there.”
“I’d like to speak to you a moment,” said the big man, “if,” with a glance at the spinster, “Miss Hohenlo will pardon us.”
Miss Hohenlo shook her faded hair and gestured prettily with her beautiful hands.
“Frederic has so many little secrets of late, and so many matters he seems anxious to keep from me, that one, more or less, will make no difference. I’ll rehearse my next play while you are gone.”
Campe came out into the hall. Scanlon stood between him and the body until he closed the door.
“Now, sit tight,” admonished the big man, “and give me a lift.”
With a face as grey as ashes, Campe looked at the senseless man.
“Who is it?” he asked. “And how did he get here?”
“As an answer to the first question, I’ll say I don’t know,” said Scanlon. “To the second, he came in by way of the cellar; and the door leading therefrom was unfastened by some one in the house.”
“Again!” Campe looked as though death itself had clutched him. “Again!”