I rather think it must have landed on the bridge of my visitor's nose, since no other point of contact could have produced such a yelp of surprised agony as that which cleft the darkness. I did not wait to jeer, but, ducking down again, took a couple of hasty steps to the left in the direction of the door. He evidently heard me, for, rushing forward, he landed a vicious smack on the wall, just above my head, bringing down the plaster in a scattering shower. I retaliated with a furious swipe at the empty air that nearly put my shoulder out, and then, feeling that so far I had had all the best of the duel, I leapt back out of range.
How the contest would have ended Goodness knows, for at that moment it was cut short by an unexpected interruption. From the passage outside came the noise of hurrying footsteps; then the door of the room burst open, admitting a ray of light that seemed almost blinding after the total darkness. A figure appeared on the threshold—a tall figure in white, holding a candle in one hand and a stick of some sort in the other.
I blame myself pretty badly for what happened next. If I had only had the sense of a caterpillar, I should have dashed for the door, so cutting off all chance of my visitor's escape. As it was, I'm blessed if I didn't actually jump away in the opposite direction, I suppose from some silly idea that I was going to be tackled by a fresh enemy.
I realised my mistake at once, but it was too late. There was a swift rush of feet, a wild scuffle on the threshold, and then the candle went out and I heard Milford's voice shouting for help.
With an oath I hurled myself forward, stumbling blindly over the scattered fire-irons. There was still a glimmer of light in the passage, and by its aid I could see two figures locked in a furious struggle.
Just as I reached the door, one of them collapsed, and the other, breaking free, leaped wildly for the head of the banisters. I was after him at once, and we went down that staircase in a way that would have put the fear of God into a couple of chamois.
If the front door had been locked, I should have had him. As it was, he just got it open in time, and taking the steps with a flying jump, landed clear on the pavement outside. With a last effort, I hurled my poker at him through the gate, only missing him by the merest fraction. Then he was off, bolting down the street like a rabbit, and vanishing round the corner before you could count five.
CHAPTER IX
I walked out into the roadway and picked up my weapon. Except for a solitary cat, scratching herself under the opposite lamp, Park Lane was absolutely deserted. As I stood for a moment, staring up and down the long, brilliantly-lit thoroughfare, I heard a neighbouring clock strike three.