"Someone must have got in, Sanders," observed Mr. Ravensworth, when he had listened.
"Well, sir, I don't know," was the answer. "The curious thing is that there are no signs of it. All the doors and windows had been fastened before we went to bed, and they had not been, so far as we can discover, in the least disturbed."
"Do you suspect anyone in the house?"
"Why—no, sir; there's no one we like to suspect," returned Sanders, coughing dubiously.
"The servants——"
"Oh, none of the servants would do such a thing," interrupted Sanders, very decidedly: and Mr. Ravensworth feared they might be getting upon dangerous ground. He caught Major Carlen's significant glance. It said, as plainly as glance ever yet spoke, "The man suspects his mistress."
"Is Lord Level's bedroom isolated from the rest of the rooms?"
"Pretty well, sir, for that. No one sleeps near him but my lady. Her room opens from his."
"Could he have done it himself, Sanders?" struck in Major Carlen. "He has been light-headed from fever."
"Just at the first moment the same question occurred to me, sir; but we soon saw that it was not at all likely. The fever had abated, my lord was quite collected, and the stab in the arm could not have been done by himself."