At this moment, a knock sounded at the door. His heart stood still. Was it Inga—Inga who herself in her wretchedness had come to him, knowing his need? He went to it hastily, fearing, hoping. To his surprise, instead of the girl, it was Mr. Cornelius who stood at the door, beckoning and mysterious.
“Some one has entered my room, while we were away. Come; I show you.”
XXXIV
Following Mr. Cornelius, Dangerfield went down the hall for an examination. At the bottom, he remained skeptical, despite “the baron’s” assurance that the window had been locked and that the catch was now sprung. There were scratches on the surface of the iron lock of the chest and a spot of oil on the floor beside it. “The baron” was in a high state of excitement. The window-latch, he insisted, could have been sprung by an ordinary knife.
“But there are only two other rooms which give on the roof,” said Dangerfield; “Miss Quirley’s——”
“No; not that.”
“And Drinkwater’s, which has been empty for weeks.”
“Perhaps.”