But the hall was empty. No sound came from any part of the house.
Chapter X
ANOTHER INTRUDER
For several minutes Bill stood still and listened. Not even a board creaked. The house was as quiet as a tomb. Of one thing he felt certain: Mr. Zenas Sanders and his bodyguard had left the place for good. There would be no more visitors tonight.
He looked at his wristwatch. It was quarter to eleven. Fifteen minutes more, and he would slip out of the back door and make his way over to Twin Heads Harbor. More than ever now, he wanted to get in touch with Ezra Parker. Two heads would be much better than one in this predicament. He must have advice. Too much hung on the decision he must make—he dared not rely on his own judgment alone. But there must be some way out of this mysterious business. Parker, that clear-headed Yankee, would be able to suggest the proper course to follow, if anybody could. The last thing to do before leaving, was to make sure that the garage was still lighted up. Parker must not fail their rendezvous.
And now Bill realized that it was no longer necessary to leave lights burning all over the house. Pocketing the small automatic which Mr. Sanders had so thoughtlessly provided, he picked up his flashlight, and set about switching off electrics in the various rooms.
Working his way through the house, he came to the butler’s pantry. Even in full sunshine it must have been depressing. With only the narrow beam of his flash to illumine it, the place was dank enough to plunge the most cheerful person into a mood of melancholy. Bill gazed at the wall with its jail-like row of keys, each bearing a small tag with the name of a room in diminutive handwriting. Above the keys was an ordinary glass frame which enclosed the indicators of bells from the rooms. It seemed as if he were watching the still heart of the house, with wires leading like bloodless arteries to the gaunt and distant chambers. Suddenly, Bill flashed his torch full upon the wall.
He had thought he saw one of the indicators move. The bell had not rung—or he had not heard it—but he could have sworn that he had seen one of the disks tremble. He peered closer. For a full minute he watched the indicators, but now could discern no movement.
“Nerves!” he muttered angrily. “This darned house is making a woman of me.”
A glance at his watch showed that it lacked but five minutes to the hour. He strolled to the end of the kitchen passage, returned, and went into the hall to get his cap. The wind had risen. He could hear it swishing through the trees outside, a long, low whine in the pine-needles, in vivid contrast to the deadly stillness inside the house. He was returning to the pantry on his way to the back door, when he felt his heart jump—and then stand still. Clear and unmistakable, the tinkling of an electric bell.
Bill leapt into the butler’s pantry and his eyes scanned the double row of indicators on the wall. Not one of them moved by the fraction of an inch. A soft, faint whir sounded again. In some room of the house a finger was pressed upon an electric button. Bill went into the passage and listened. The sound was much clearer now. It seemed to come from behind the closed door across the corridor.