Captain Fennel had nearly gained the top, when something—he never knew what—induced him to look round sharply, as though he fancied some one was close behind him. In fact, he did fancy it. In a moment, he gave a shout, dashed onwards into the bedroom, shut the door with a bang, and bolted it. Nancy, in great astonishment, turned to look at him. He seemed to have shrunk within himself in a fit of trembling, his face was ghastly, and the perspiration stood upon his brow.
“Edwin!” she exclaimed in a scared whisper, “what is the matter?”
Captain Fennel did not answer at first. He was getting up his breath.
“Has Flore not gone?” he then said.
“Flore!” exclaimed Nancy in surprise. “Why, Edwin, you know Flore goes away on Sundays in the middle of the afternoon! She left before we went on the pier. Why do you ask?”
“I—I thought—some person—followed me upstairs,” he replied, in uneasy pauses.
“Oh, my goodness!” cried timid Nancy. “Perhaps a thief has got into the house!”
She went to the door, and was about to draw it an inch open, intending to peep out gingerly and listen, when her husband pulled her back with a motion of terror, and put his back against it. This meant, she thought, that he knew a thief was there. Perhaps two of them!
“Is there more than one?” she whispered. “Lavinia’s silver—my silver, now—is in the basket on the console in the salon.”