And in the same moment it flashed upon Oleron, he knew not how, that two, three, five, he knew not how many minutes before, another sound, unmarked at the time but suddenly transfixing his attention now, had striven to reach his intelligence. This sound had been the slight touch of metal on metal—just such a sound as Oleron made when he put his key into the lock.
"Hallo!… Who's that?" he called sharply from his bed.
He had no answer.
He called again. "Hallo!… Who's there?… Who is it?"
This time he was sure he heard noises, soft and heavy, in the kitchen.
"This is a queer thing altogether," he muttered. "By Jove, I'm as weak as a kitten too…. Hallo, there! Somebody called, didn't they?… Elsie! Is that you?…"
Then he began to knock with his hand on the wall at the side of his bed.
"Elsie!… Elsie!… You called, didn't you?… Please come here, whoever it is!…"
There was a sound as of a closing door, and then silence. Oleron began to get rather alarmed.
"It may be a nurse," he muttered; "Elsie'd have to get me a nurse, of course. She'd sit with me as long as she could spare the time, brave lass, and she'd get a nurse for the rest…. But it was awfully like her voice…. Elsie, or whoever it is!… I can't make this out at all. I must go and see what's the matter…."