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      “No.”

      “Then try again.”

      “Yes, I do feel it.”

      “I knew you did,” answered Mr. Maltby. “We all feel it, but not in the same degree, or in the same way. Perhaps there is one exception at the moment. Mr. Hopkins. So far he has felt little beyond his own misery. But he will feel it, too, in due course, for all his pooh-poohs. It would not surprise me at all if he is the first to crumble.... Your mind is rebelling against all this,” the old man challenged suddenly. “You are saying to yourself, ‘Oh, nonsense! This is just nerves! I am being influenced by that silly spook-spouting old idiot Mr. Maltby.’ Let us examine that theory, then, to dismiss it. Did you begin to feel something strange about this house after I arrived, or before?”

      “Before,” admitted David.

      “Then I cannot be responsible.”

      “It wouldn’t seem so.”

      “When did you first feel it?”

      “I suppose, pretty well as soon as I entered.”

      “Were your sensations general, or did any particular thing strike you? We will exclude such items as bread-knives.”

      “Yes, one thing did strike me.”

      “What?”

      “It doesn’t seem any good telling you, since you appear to know everything in advance.”

      “Of all there is to know, I know very little in advance. What struck you?”

      “Well, that picture over the fireplace.”

      “In what way did it strike you?”

      “I don’t know. Sorry if that’s not satisfactory.”

      “Shall I put a suggestion into your head?”

      “Please do.”

      “Did it strike you that the old fellow in the picture was watching you? Listening to you?”

      “But, of course, that was ridiculous!”

      “Absolute nonsense. Well, what else struck you? You were coming down the stairs as I arrived. I caught a glimpse of your face. You were not very happy.”

      “I’d had a bit of a shock.”

      “Yes?”

      “When you saw me coming down those stairs I was returning from my second ascent of them. I’d been poking round a bit before, and the first time I’d found a door locked. Top room. It worried me, because I thought I heard sounds behind it, but I got no reply when I knocked.”

      “What sort of sounds?” inquired Mr. Maltby.

      “Nothing very distinct. Somebody moving, that was the impression. And then silence.”

      “Did you form any conclusion?”

      “I can’t say that I did.”

      “Of course, you tried the keyhole?”

      “The key was in it, on the other side.”

      “Well? That was the first time.”

      “Yes. And the second time——”

      “No, wait a moment,” interrupted Mr. Maltby. “Have you told me everything about the first time? How long were you there? Was the sound repeated? It is a good plan, I have always found, to know all there is to know at once, then one does not have to go back to it.”

      “I agree that’s a good plan,” responded David, finding some comfort in the old man’s thoroughness, “only in this case it doesn’t advance us any, as I’ve told you the lot.”

      “On the contrary, Mr. Carrington, you haven’t answered my specific questions.”

      “So I haven’t. I was there about half a minute, I should say, and the sound wasn’t repeated. No, wait—as we’re being so particular! I’ve told you things in the wrong order. I didn’t hear any sound till I knocked. Then the quick, faint movement. Then the silence.”

      “Thank you. And now for the second time.”

      “Yes, the second time,” said David. “The door wasn’t locked the second time. I walked into the room, a sort of attic, and found it empty. That’s what gave me my shock.”

      “Naturally,” nodded Mr. Maltby. “Did you form any conclusion this time?”

      “Only that—that whoever had been in the room had now left it, and—and was somewhere else in the house.”

      “Not necessarily.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “The window looked closed, or it would have occurred to you.”

      “Oh, I see. Well, it was closed, so it didn’t occur to me.”

      “You examined the window?”

      “No. I didn’t do that.”

      “I think, when you examine it, you will find that it is closed, but not fastened. It may not even be completely closed. You may find——”

      “Look here,” interposed David. “If the person got out of the window, why should he worry about the door?”

      “He may have tried the door first, and then suddenly changed his mind to the window,” retorted Mr. Maltby. “Obviously your question cannot be answered without some knowledge of the person—whom we merely assume to be male—and his mental attitude. We must search the house very thoroughly, to make sure that this person is not hiding anywhere else. My own theory, however, inclines to the window. By the way, what did you think of our friend Mr. Smith?”

      “Smith? That chap who came in with you?” queried David.

      “Perhaps you are right to query the name,” observed Mr. Maltby, dryly. “But we must use Smith for lack of another.”

      “I didn’t think much of him,” said David. “Nor did you.”

      “I am sorry I did not conceal my antipathy. No, I did not think much of him. You know, of course, that he was on our train?”

      “I rather deduced that.”

      “Yes, it was unfortunate for him that he dropped his ticket. Now, since Mr. Smith was on our train, and stoutly denied the fact, what do you suppose would be the reason?”

      David did not reply at once. The only reason he could suppose was a very unpleasant one, and while he waited some one emerged from the kitchen into the back of the hall. Thomson had finished his rather disastrous operations at the sink.

      His face was paler than ever, СКАЧАТЬ