"Funny noise!" said Ben. "Well, now, you creep back to your room and lock the door, and stay in there, Polly."
"Oh, Ben, don't go down," she cried, seizing his arm.
"Do as I say." He never spoke in such a tone before, and Polly, who had no thought of disobeying, found herself soon in her own room, wishing that she hadn't called Ben, and longing to run out and help, and a thousand things besides.
Ben meantime was out in the hall, a stout walking-stick in his hand, hanging over the banister. Yes, Polly was right, there certainly was a funny noise, and it appeared to come from downstairs, too. It wasn't just what he supposed would be raised by anybody getting in to rob the house; it was more like something dropping; and then another sound, like a flap, flap of the window shade. But it was just as well to act speedily, and yet it must be done with caution; so he crept off to the back hall, where he could press the button that gave the signal to the men in the stable.
And he presently saw the lights flashing as they turned their dark lanterns a second toward the big stone mansion. Well, whatever the trouble was, they would soon find out, for Thomas had a key for just such possible emergencies, and the search would—
Ben never finished it in his mind, for a sharp noise, so near him that it seemed as if the person making it must be close to his heels, sent every bit of blood away from his cheeks. He couldn't turn, for what might be back of him in the darkness? It wasn't the click of a pistol exactly,—Ben, in all his cold terror felt struck with the little resemblance to any such noise,—still, as there was nothing else so likely to be that very thing, why, it must be, he concluded.
Downstairs he could hear, with senses sharpened, that Thomas had entered the house and that the search had begun in earnest. Well, somebody, whoever it was with that pistol, would probably do something more than click it before long, when another noise, this time a little farther off, a soft, pat—pat, sent his mind in another direction. Either there were two burglars who had worked their way upstairs, or the one with the pistol had heard the noise downstairs, and concluded to try for an escape.
And now Ben's blood was up, and he softly followed in the direction of the sound, grasping his stick hard and setting his teeth. "It'll be easier for me than for the other fellow, as I know the way," flashed through his mind.
But he didn't seem to get much nearer. Of course he would stop when there was no noise, then the soft pat—pat would begin at a further remove, and on Ben would creep after it.
He must at least keep the trail till Thomas and the other serving-man could put in an appearance on that third floor. What,—ah, there he is! Again the click! And the portière twitched out by the sudden movement of a hand. Ben swung his stout stick above his head, and brought it down to hear a squeal of fright and pain, and Jocko, whose tail only had suffered, leaped into his face.