There he waited and listened, scarce breathing, until five full minutes had passed.
Not a sound came from any part of the house.
Not a sign of life could be seen in the dusty, dimly lighted hall.
Nolan then crept up the narrow stairway, still listening and alert.
There seemed to be, however, no occasion for such exquisite caution. Nolan reached the next floor, that on the level with the front street. He peered into one room after another, but discovered nothing wrong.
The kitchen looked cold and out of commission. The shutters were closed. The range and iron sink were smeared with vaseline to prevent rusting. Dust had collected on them, and they looked gray and dirty.
The dining room was uninviting. The sideboard was destitute, the polished table bare. The library, sitting room, and parlor, all were in order, but dim, cheerless, and deserted.
Nolan crept up to the next floor.
He peered into two front chambers, both neatly furnished, but he saw nothing of special interest.
He then stole toward the rear of the house.