But the horn of plenty still had some gifts to shower upon him: the god of mischances had not yet exhausted his store of thrills. About five minutes, as it seemed, after his retiring—it was really an hour and a half—Lionel was roused from a deep slumber by a knock. He sat up in bed, blinking heavily, wondering if his senses had deceived him, whether he was dreaming or awake. For a moment he sat listening, and then the knock was repeated, distinct beyond the possibility of mistake. "Confound it!" he muttered in an ill temper; "they might give me a night off now.... To-morrow I'll hang a placard on my door—'Conspiracies attended to from nine A. M. to eleven P. M. Kindly note hours of consultation.'—Hello!" he said aloud; "is anybody there?"
The door opened a few inches, but no one entered. Lionel was too bored to speculate whether it might be Mizzi, Winifred or some unknown Oriental with turban and simitar. He was prepared to accept anything, if only he might be allowed to go to sleep. "Hello!" he repeated; "who is that?"
"Me," said the voice of Miss Arkwright. "Are you asleep, Mr. Mortimer?"
"Yes," said Lionel, grinning in the darkness—"sound asleep."
A species of cluck was heard from outside the door, but whether the strange sound indicated amusement or wrath he could not determine. He was wide awake now, determined to exact vengeance for his cavalier treatment.
"Some one," continued the voice, "is prowling round the house. A thief, I suppose. He seems to have a ladder."
"Oh!" said Lionel, in the dispassionate tone of the village idiot. "Oh!"
Again there was silence, save for a repetition of the curious cluck. Presently Winifred said in a voice that trembled with indignation, "Is that all you have to say?"
"You might give him my kind regards, and ask him to leave this room untouched," said Lionel, beginning to enjoy himself. He could picture Winifred biting her lip. "Good night, and pleasant dreams."
"You are a man, and my guest," said the voice bitterly, "and you leave us at the mercy of a possible murderer——"