“Absit omen!” said Mr. Romaine devoutly.
We were just so far in our talk, when I heard a sound that brought my heart into my mouth: the sound of some one slily trying the handle of the door. It had been preceded by no audible footstep. Since the departure of Rowley our wing of the house had been entirely silent. And we had every right to suppose ourselves alone, and to conclude that the new-comer, whoever he might be, was come on a clandestine, if not a hostile, errand.
“Who is there?” asked Romaine.
“It’s only me, sir,” said the soft voice of Dawson. “It’s the Viscount, sir. He is very desirous to speak with you on business.”
“Tell him I shall come shortly, Dawson,” said the lawyer. “I am at present engaged.”
“Thank you, sir!” said Dawson.
And we heard his feet draw off slowly along the corridor.
“Yes,” said Mr. Romaine, speaking low, and maintaining the attitude of one intently listening, “there is another foot. I cannot be deceived!”
“I think there was indeed!” said I. “And what troubles me—I am not sure that the other has gone entirely away. By the time it got the length of the head of the stair the tread was plainly single.”