Thompson had caught sight of the detective standing on the steps. A few hours earlier he had himself told him that the baronet was out of town. It was an awkward dilemma, and he coughed doubtingly while he racked his brains for a judicious answer.
But Bruce grasped his difficulty. “It is all right, Thompson. Mr. White quite understands the position. Do you think Sir Charles is in bed?”
“I will go and see, sir. He was very anxious that you should be sent upstairs if you called. But that was when he was in the library.”
Bruce and the detective entered the hall, the butler closed the door behind them, and then solemnly ascended the stairs to Sir Charles Dyke’s bedroom, which was situated on the first floor along a corridor towards the back of the house.
They distinctly heard the polite knock at the door and Thompson’s query, “Are you asleep, Sir Charles?”
After a pause, there was another knock, and the same question in a slightly louder key.
Then the butler returned, saying as he came down the stairs:
“Sir Charles seems to be sound asleep, sir.”
Bruce and the detective exchanged glances. The barrister was disappointed, almost perturbed, but he said: