The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmond could scarcely hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he had recognized his voice, should think of leaning out of the window and looking down upon the balcony. With his coat collar turned up to hide the treacherous white of his linen, Desmond pressed himself as close as possible against the side of the house and waited for the joyful cry that would proclaim that he had been discovered. There was no possible means of escape; for the balcony stood at an angle of the house with no windows or water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold, looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy area.
Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on getting away from the house without delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did not know; but after the agony of suspense had endured for what seemed to him an hour, he heard Strangwise say:
“It’s no good, Bellward! I’m not satisfied! And until I am satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don’t leave this house. And that’s that!”
Bellward swore savagely.
“We’ve searched the garden and not found him: we’ve ransacked the house from top to bottom without result. The fellow’s not here; but by God, he’ll be here presently with a bunch of police, and then it’ll be too late! For the last time, Strangwise, will you clear out?”
There was a moment’s pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise’s clear, calm voice.
“There’s a balcony there... below the window, I mean.”
“I’ve looked,” replied Bellward, “and he’s not there. You can see for yourself!”
The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemed unbearable and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one counts to woo sleep. One! two! three! four! He heard a grating noise as the window was pushed further up. Five! six! seven! eight!
“Strange!”