Suddenly Westerham remembered that there was one pocket of his new clothes which he had not searched. His hand went towards his hip, and he was surprised to find that his revolver was without question there.
Glancing about to make sure that he was not observed, Westerham drew it out and felt with his thumb along the back barrels. It was still loaded. For a second Westerham wondered whether the bullets had been drawn, but, opening the six-shooter, he satisfied himself that the cartridges had not been tampered with.
This amazed him not a little, although the discovery considerably restored his confidence. At least he had to anticipate no further attack on that night.
And then he remembered the mysterious words of Mme. Estelle: “No man now is more jealous of your safety than Captain Melun.”
He could not help pondering on this point as he gave three taps with the heavy old-fashioned knocker.
The door was opened by a man, apparently a German, dressed in the black coat and white shirt of the traditional English butler.
He said something to him in a foreign tongue which Westerham could not understand. His gesture, however, was clear enough, and he walked straight ahead down a dimly-lighted passage till he came to a baize door. This the man pushed open for him, and he passed on alone, and heard a bolt drawn behind him.
There was not the slightest doubt as to the way he had to go. There was no other exit from the place except a flight of stone steps, which led downwards. At the bottom of the flight of steps there was a second baize door, and through this Westerham passed along a well-carpeted corridor faintly lit by electric light. The passage had no windows, and it suddenly struck Westerham that he was underground.
At the end of the corridor Westerham encountered another baize door, but as he stepped on the mat which was laid before it he heard an electric bell ring sharply, and the door opened itself.
As it did so Westerham was almost blinded by a flood of white light.