Dusk was already falling when the Great Detective issued forth—a sinister figure, with frown, lead pencil and dressing-gown—on the track of the criminals. The villain's house was brightly lit up, and he experienced some difficulty in making his way in. He made it ultimately through the larder window, and was detained for a few minutes by a raspberry cream which was a special weakness of his. Then, leaving the empty plate behind him, he gathered his dressing-gown about him and reconnoitred. The coast seemed to be clear. He crept upstairs and then on all fours along the landing. A door opened suddenly, and the master of the house, in shirt-sleeves, appeared full in William's way. William returned his gaze unflinchingly. The master of the house paled and retired precipitately to his wife's bedroom.
WILLIAM RETURNED HIS GAZE UNFLINCHINGLY. THE
MASTER OF THE HOUSE PALED AND RETIRED
PRECIPITATELY.
"I've seen it again, Marie," he said.
"What, dear?"
"The—er—subconscious fear—the—er—message, you know. It was crawling along the passage outside in its curious long garment, and it gave me just the same kind of look. Piercing, you know—almost hostile. I'm beginning to feel rather nervous, my dear. You've—never seen anything of it, have you?"
"Never!"
Mr. Croombe wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"I'd better look up some sort of comfortable—asylum, you know, somewhere where the food's good—in case I go clean off it suddenly. I believe it generally begins by hallucinations."
"You must go away for a change," said Mrs. Croombe firmly, "as soon as you can after the upset of this party's over."