“That’s done it!” muttered the Chief.
The three men stood and listened. They heard the dripping of the rain, the soughing of the wind, but no sound of human kind came to their ears.
“The place is empty,” whispered the Chief. “They’ve cleared ...”
“It is too laite; I have said it.” The Dutchman spoke in a hoarse bass.
“We’ll go in here, anyway,” answered Robin, lifting up the curtain again. “They may have heard us and be hiding ...”
He opened the door, steadying it with his foot. The curtain flapped wildly round them as they crossed the threshold. The broad white beam of the electric torch swung from window to desk, from desk to safe.
“The door over there is open,” exclaimed the Chief; “that’s the way they’ve gone.”
Suddenly he clutched Robin’s arm.
“Steady,” he whispered, “look there ... in the doorway ... there’s somebody moving ... quick, the torch!”
The light flashed across the room, blazed for an instant on a window-pane, then picked out a man’s form swaying in the doorway. He had his back to the room and was rocking gently to and fro with the wind which they felt cold on their faces.