Nevertheless, while still only part way up the stairs, Patsy suddenly heard the rustle of skirts and hurried footsteps in the narrow entry on the third floor.
He stopped short and listened.
The sounds ceased in a moment, and Patsy thought he heard the cautious closing of a door. Uncertain as to the last, however, he remained motionless on the stairs, holding his breath, and listened intently for several moments.
“By Jove, that’s mighty strange,” he said to himself. “I certainly heard a woman’s steps and the rustle of skirts. She was in a hurry, too, yet was moving stealthily. That ought to signify something. Have I stumbled upon a rear entrance to Kate Crandall’s suite? Has she eluded the chief by stealing out of a back door? Gee! I’d better look into this.”
Patsy’s suspicion was perfectly natural under the circumstances. It acted upon him like a spur, moreover. He crept quickly up to the third landing and glanced through the narrow hall.
It was unoccupied. The several doors were closed. A short side entry around a corner, and several feet from the stairs, caught Patsy’s eye. That also was deserted. It contained only a single door, also closed, and Patsy stole nearer to it and listened.
He could hear no sound from within, nor detect any sign of light on the threshold. He stole away, retracing his steps, and listened at one of the other doors, then another and still another.
Patsy paused longer at the last, then suddenly crouched and tried vainly to peer through the keyhole. He had heard a man’s voice from within, crying curtly:
“Come in!”
“Gee! he’s not addressing me,” thought Patsy. “He couldn’t have heard my catlike tread.”