She opened her door a little wider. Her yellow hair covered her shoulders like a mantilla. "Who could it be at this hour?" she repeated uneasily.
McKay peered at the phosphorescent dial of his wrist-watch:
"I don't know," he repeated. "I can't imagine who would come here at this hour."
"Don't strike a light!" she whispered.
"No, I think I won't." He continued on down the stone stairs, and
Miss Erith ran to the rail and looked over.
"Are you armed?" she called through the darkness.
"Yes."
He went on toward the rear of the silent house and through the servants' hall, then around by the kitchen garden, then felt his way along a hedge to a hutchlike lodge where a fixed iron bell hung quivering under the slow blows of the clapper.
"What the devil's the matter?" demanded McKay in a calm voice.
The bell still hummed with the melancholy vibrations, but the clapper now hung motionless. Through the brooding rumour of metallic sound came a voice out of the mist: