Abbershaw stared at him. He considered that the man was either a lunatic or drunk, and as he disliked both alternatives he suggested stiffly that they should return to the house. The young man did not greet the proposal with enthusiasm, but Abbershaw, who was a determined little man when roused, dragged him back to the side door through which he had come, without further ado.
As soon as they entered the great grey corridor and the faintly dank musty breath of the house came to meet them, it became evident that something had happened. There was a sound of many feet, echoing voices, and at the far end of the passage a light flickered and passed.
‘Someone kicking up a row over the forfeit, what!’ The idiotic voice of Albert Campion at his ear jarred upon Abbershaw strangely.
‘We’ll see,’ he said, and there was an underlying note of anxiety in his voice which he could not hide.
A light step sounded close at hand and there was a gleam of silk in the darkness ahead of them.
‘Who’s there?’ said a voice he recognized as Meggie’s.
‘Oh, thank God, it’s you!’ she exclaimed, as he spoke to her.
Mr Albert Campion then did the first intelligent thing Abbershaw had observed in him. He obliterated himself and faded away up the passage, leaving them together.
‘What’s happened?’ Abbershaw spoke apprehensively, as he felt her hand quiver as she caught his arm.
‘Where have you been?’ she said breathlessly. ‘Haven’t you heard? Colonel Coombe had a heart attack right in the middle of the game. Dr Whitby and Mr Gideon have taken him up to his room. It was all very awkward for them, though. There weren’t any lights. When they sounded the gong the servants didn’t come. Apparently there’s only one door leading from their quarters to the rest of the house and that seems to have been locked. They’ve got the candles alight now, though,’ she added, and he noticed that she was oddly breathless.