Revolver in hand, I searched the place to the basement, but there was no evidence of occupation. The doors of the kitchens had not, apparently, been opened for years!
Upstairs, the bedrooms were old-fashioned, with heavy hangings, grey with dust, and half hidden by festoons of cobwebs. In not a single room was a bed that had been slept in. Indeed, I question if any one had ascended to the second floor for several years!
As I stood in one of the rooms, gazing round in wonder, and half suffocated by the dust my footsteps had disturbed, it suddenly occurred to me that the pair of assassins, believing that I had died, would, no doubt, return and dispose of my body. To me it seemed certain that this was not the first occasion that they had played the dastardly and brutal game. Yes, I felt positive they would return.
I searched the place to find a telephone, but there was none. The bogus message sent to me had been sent from elsewhere.
The only trace of Sylvia I could find was that piece of velvet ribbon, the embroidery which had so hastily been flung down, and the bowl of fresh roses.
Why had she been there? The book and the embroidery showed that she had waited. For what? That bowl of roses had been placed there to make the room look fresh, for some attempt had been made to clean the apartment, just as it had been made in the room wherein I had suffered such torture.
Why had Sylvia uttered those screams of horror? I recollected those words of hers. I recognized her voice. I would, indeed, have recognized it among the voices of a thousand women.
I returned to the drawing-room, and gazed around it in wonder. If, as it seemed, Reckitt and Forbes had taken unlawful possession of an untenanted house, then it was probable they would not return to get rid of my remains. The whole affair was incomprehensible. It seemed evident that Sylvia had not fallen a victim to the vengeance of the pair, as I had feared, but that perhaps I had owed my life to her.
Could it be that she had learned of my peril, released me, killed the venomous reptile, and escaped?
Suddenly, as my eyes wandered about the dingy old room, I caught sight of something shining. A golden bangle of curious Indian design was lying upon the mantelshelf. I took it up, and in a moment recognized it as one I had seen upon her wrist one evening while she sat at dinner at Gardone.