“Very,” was the reply. “Just keep your eye on my place to-night, constable. There have been one or two suspicious-looking characters hanging about here lately.”
“I will, sir,” said the constable, and moved off in company with Levi.
The pawnbroker closed the door hastily behind them and bolted it securely. His friend’s jest about the devil under the counter occurred to him as he eyed it, and for the first time in his life, the lonely silence of the shop became oppressive. He half thought of opening the door again and calling them back, but by this time they were out of earshot, and he had a very strong idea that there might be somebody lurking in the fog outside.
“Bah!” said he aloud, “thirty thousand pounds.”
He turned the gas-jet on full—a man that had just made that sum could afford to burn a little gas—and, first satisfying himself by looking under the counter and round the shop, re-entered the sitting room.
Despite his efforts, he could not get rid of the sense of loneliness and danger which possessed him. The clock had stopped, and the only sound audible was the snapping of the extinguished coals in the grate. He crossed over to the mantelpiece, and, taking out his watch, wound the clock up. Then he heard something else.
With great care he laid the key softly on the mantelpiece and listened intently. The clock was now aggressively audible, so that he opened the case again, and putting his finger against the pendulum, stopped it. Then he drew his revolver and cocked it, and, with his set face turned towards the door, and his lips parted, waited.
At first—nothing. Then all the noises which a lonely man hears in a house at night. The stairs creaked, something moved in the walls. He crossed noiselessly to the door and opened it. At the head of the staircase he fancied the darkness moved.
“Who’s there?” he cried in a strong voice.
Then he stepped back into the room and lit his lamp. “I’ll get to bed,” he said grimly; “I’ve got the horrors.”