“He went in this door while I was quite a way from the House.”
“Then what’s become of him? He couldn’t have fired that shot outside!”
“Don’t ask me. Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about it. I got to the door in time to hear the tail-end of that laugh—that was enough for me. I don’t want to lead the searching-party. This is the last time I officiate for any detective.”
“Come along with me, then. He must be here somewhere.”
“I think they’re trying to find him outside, sir,” said Soames, who had stepped warily to the corner of the House.
“That’s because they don’t know he went in here. Come along, both of you.”
We passed into the portrait-corridor, and I shouted Heatheringham’s name a couple of times, without effect.
Several of the servants had emerged from their quarters and were clustered about me while I stood at the door beneath the musicians’ gallery, scrutinizing the vast gloom of the Hall. Somehow, I was loath to enter or to switch on the light ready to my hand.
“Nobody here,” said Lib beside me, in a tone of relief.
I still moved my glance through the spaces of the room. Feet were pouring through the front door. I heard Crofts’ voice raised: