"I say, this won't do!" Quickly he went towards the door, and as he reached the corridor he saw the swing door between the two parts of the house open, and Miss Farrow came through, looking her well-bred, composed self, and wearing, incidentally, a short, neat, becoming dressing-gown.
"I can't think what's happening!" she exclaimed. She looked from the one man to the other. "What can be happening downstairs?"
As Panton made no answer, Mr. Tapster replied for them both: "The doctor thinks one of the servants got drunk last night."
"Yes, that must be it, of course. I'll go down and see who it is," she said composedly.
But Dr. Panton broke in authoritatively: "No, indeed, Miss Farrow! If it's what I think it is, the fellow will probably be violent. You'd better let me go down alone and deal with him."
There had come again that extraordinary, sudden stillness.
"I think I'd rather come down with you," she said coolly.
All three started going down the narrow, steep wooden staircase which connected that portion of the upper floor with the many rambling offices of the old house.
Tapster and Blanche Farrow each held a candle, but Dr. Panton led the way; and soon they were treading the whitewashed passages, even their slippered feet making, in the now absolute stillness, what sounded like loud thuds on the stone floor.
"Listen!" said Blanche suddenly.