The door was unlocked, and there he stood. He was fully dressed. He looked at me with an expression on his face I could not define, but he was very calm.
"Come in," he said.
I went into his sitting-room. Everything was in order. I would have sworn I heard a woman scream, and yet no one was in sight. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. I eyed it in a fascinated way.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Garry," I said, and I was conscious how strained and queer my voice sounded. "I got back suddenly, and there's no one at home. I want to stay here with you, if you don't mind."
"Certainly, old man; only too glad to have you."
His voice was steady. I sat down on the edge of a chair. My eyes were riveted on that bedroom door.
"Had a good drive?" he went on genially. "You must be cold. Let me give you some whisky."
My teeth were chattering. I clutched the chair. Oh, that door! My eyes were fastened on it. I was convinced I heard some one in there. He rose to get the whisky.
"Say when?"
I held the glass with a shaking hand: