“Very much indeed, Gibbons,” I answered, taking a cigarette and standing with my back to the fire. “She was such a devoted daughter.”
“She is now mistress of everything, Mr Ford told us when he was down three days ago.”
“Yes,” I said, “everything. And I hope that you and your wife will serve her as well and as faithfully as you have done her father.”
“We’ll try, sir,” was the grave, grey-haired man’s response. “Everybody’s very fond of the young mistress. She’s so very good to all the servants.” Then, as I remained silent, he placed my candle in readiness on the table, and, bowing, wished me good-night.
He closed the door, and I was alone in that great silent old room where the darting flames cast weird lights across into the dark recesses, and the long, old Chippendale clock ticked on solemnly as it had done for a century past.
Having swallowed my hot drink, I returned again to my dead friend’s writing-table, carefully examining it to see whether it contained any secret drawers. A methodical investigation of every portion failed to reveal any spring or unsuspected cavity, therefore, after glancing at that photograph which had taken Blair those many months of weary tramping to identify, I extinguished the lamps and passing through the great old hall with the stands of armour which conjured up visions of ghostly cavaliers, ascended to my room.
The bright fire gave the antique place with those rather funereal hangings a warm and cosy appearance in contrast to the hard frost outside, and feeling no inclination to sleep just then, I flung my self into an armchair and sat with arms folded, pondering deeply.
Again the stable-clock chimed—the half-hour—and then I think I must have dozed, for I was awakened suddenly by a light, stealthy footstep on the polished oaken floor outside my door. I listened, and distinctly heard some one creeping lightly down the big old Jacobean staircase, which creaked slightly somewhere below.
The weird ghostliness of the old place and its many historic traditions caused me, I suppose, some misgivings, for I found myself thinking of burglars and of midnight visitants. Again I strained my ears. Perhaps, after all, it was only a servant! Yet, when I glanced at my watch, and found it to be a quarter to two, the suggestion that the servants had not retired was at once negatived.
Suddenly, in the room below me, I distinctly heard a slow, harsh, grating noise. Then all was still again.