Again we heard the knock upon our door, and, we thought, a low groan; but it might have been the wind. The hound was snuffing at the door, and uttered a low wail, as though mourning for the dead. Two or three times he trotted towards us, and then returned and scratched at the woodwork with his claws, as though anxious to get into the street.
"I can stand this no longer!" cried Fred, cocking his revolver, and starting up. "I will see who is at the door if a dozen robbers are waiting outside."
He started towards the door as he spoke, and I followed him. Just as we were about to draw the bolts, another knock, but much fainter, and a low, death-like groan, fell upon our ears.
We started, and hesitated about proceeding; but Rover looked up into our faces with such an expression, as though to encourage us to see what the matter was, that we determined to investigate, and no longer suspect a trick.
We withdrew the bolts and suddenly threw open the door, and as we did so, the body of a man fell inward, and lay at our feet motionless, although by our lights, dim as they were, we could see that our midnight visitor was covered with blood.
CHAPTER LII.
THE ATTEMPT TO MURDER MR. CRITCHET.
We were surprised and somewhat startled at the intrusion, but we did not stop to exchange surmises, or to ask questions. A man was lying at our feet, badly wounded, and was bleeding freely from half a dozen cuts or stabs.