For some minutes Cleek stood in deep thought, then he turned and walked quickly back into the house. He had made up his mind to beard Lord St. Ulmer in his room, and his quick brain was intent on a plan by which he should secure an entry. Three minutes later he stood outside the door and placed a bunch of extinguished matches at the foot of it, while he called softly but piercingly.
"Lord St. Ulmer! Quick! Quick! Fire! The place is on fire."
His heart pounded as he waited, for if the man were asleep his efforts would be fruitless. Suddenly, however, there came a faint sound to his straining ears, and again he whispered in that sibilant whisper:
"Lord St. Ulmer, fire!"
He did not have time to repeat it, for there came the sound as of an extremely agile man leaping from his bed, and another moment he heard the snick of an unfastened lock, then the door opened.
Cleek waited not a second, his foot was in the narrow aperture, and he was through the door and had switched on the light before the other man had realized what had happened. Then he gave vent to a little low laugh of triumph as with his back against the closed door he surveyed the white-faced man who had retreated to the middle of the room.
"Good evening! Citizen Paul, good brother Apache, so it is you, is it?" he said airily. "Let us have a quiet little understanding, mon ami. You need not be distressed. There is no fire. It is merely a bluff. What! You do not know me. But wait! Look!" The serene face writhed suddenly, and it was as if another man took his place. "Ever see a chap that looked like this, friend Paul, eh?"
"The identical party!" acknowledged Cleek blandly. "Come! I want to have a few minutes' talk with you, my friend, and—— Stop! Don't back away! Stop and face me. By God! you'll hang for last night's business if you don't!"