“It sounded like bare feet—Ugh—give us a drop of brandy,” growled Allyne, pretending to more alarm than he really felt.
Fair returned to the table after closing the door into the passage, and pouring a stiff drink for each of them, said, with a laugh: “Here you go. That will hearten you up a bit, Allyne. Why, you look as though you expected to see a ghost. Never fear, old chap. Something much more substantial than spirits is at the bottom of this cheerful occasion.”
“There was a beastly sly fellow over the way when we came in,” said Allyne as he sat on the end of the table to drink. “Why the deuce did he watch us like that?”
“He probably wants me,” answered Fair seriously, “although he does not yet know that it is I he wants. We can ask him to escort me to jail as we go out of the house presently.”
Travers put down his glass with a bang, spilling the liquor, jumped up and swung around at Fair, thoroughly disgusted and exasperated.
“Really, Fair,” he began, “I’ve had about enough of this. Aren’t you pressing your little joke a bit too far? I was just saying to Allyne that I would give you half an hour. At the end of that time I——”
Again there was the sound of footsteps above their heads, and Travers stopped and all three looked toward the door as the steps seemed to come down the stairs. Fair was the first to regain composure.
“You give me half an hour,” he said to Travers, “but I shall require only ten minutes. Have a cigar, and—damn it, Allyne, let up, you know. Lock the door if you like, but for heaven’s sake quit your funk.”
“Thanks awfully,” retorted Allyne, locking the door so quickly that Fair and Travers laughed genuinely this time. “There! Now we are cozy, aren’t we just? A corpse and an undertaker and a hangman are all we want to complete our merry little party.”
“Shut up, Allyne!” shouted Travers, watching Fair’s face. “Now, Fair, for the love of sanity—what’s the answer?”