“It sounded like footsteps on the floor above,” said Travers.
“But Fair said there is nobody in the house,” answered Allyne, adding, with a return of his usual spirits: “I say, Travers, just run upstairs and have a look round, will you, that’s a good fellow?”
“You go,” replied Travers, smiling, but more in earnest than he would have cared to admit. “You are younger than I, and—but here’s Fair.”
Fair came in, carrying a tray on which were a number of decanters and glasses, which he placed on the table before he saw with surprise that the others were evidently acting under a strain of some sort.
“I say, old man, were you upstairs a moment ago?” asked Travers, with a disquietingly anxious look.
“Upstairs?” asked Fair, with growing uneasiness. “Why, no. I was below—ever since I left you. Why?”
“Nothing,” answered Travers, trying to throw a careless tone into his words. “Allyne thought he heard—There it is again!”
All three had heard it this time—and all belied with their eyes the smile which they forced to their lips.
“Wind in the chimney,” muttered Fair, disavowing all belief in his own words by going, not to the fireplace, but to the door to listen. “There is nobody in the house, anyway,” he added, still listening at the door.