He started and held his breath with fear.  Somewhere down stairs a board creaked loudly, then another.  He went to the door, and opening it a little way, but without looking out, listened.  The house was so still that he could hear the ticking of the old clock in the kitchen below.  He opened the door a little wider and peeped out.  As he did so there was a sudden sharp outcry on the stairs, and he drew back into the room and stood trembling before he had quite realized that the noise had been made by the cat.  The cry was unmistakable; but what had disturbed it?

There was silence again, and he drew near the door once more.  He became certain that something was moving stealthily on the stairs.  He heard the boards creak again, and once the rails of the balustrade rattled.  The silence and suspense were frightful.  Suppose that the something which had been Fletcher waited for him in the darkness outside?

He fought his fears down, and opening the door, determined to see what was beyond.  The light from his room streamed out on to the landing, and he peered about fearfully.  Was it fancy, or did the door of Fletcher’s room opposite close as he looked?  Was it fancy, or did the handle of the door really turn?

In perfect silence, and watching the door as he moved, to see that nothing came out and followed him, he proceeded slowly down the dark stairs.  Then his jaw fell, and he turned sick and faint again.  The library door, which he distinctly remembered closing, and which, moreover, he had seen was closed when he went up stairs to his room, now stood open some four or five inches.  He fancied that there was a rustling inside, but his brain refused to be certain.  Then plainly and unmistakably he heard a chair pushed against the wall.

He crept to the door, hoping to pass it before the thing inside became aware of his presence.  Something crept stealthily about the room.  With a sudden impulse he caught the handle of the door, and, closing it violently, turned the key in the lock, and ran madly down the stairs.

A fearful cry sounded from the room, and a heavy hand beat upon the panels of the door.  The house rang with the blows, but above them sounded the loud hoarse cries of human fear.  Burleigh, half-way down to the hall, stopped with his hand on the balustrade and listened.  The beating ceased, and a man’s voice cried out loudly for God’s sake to let him out.

At once Burleigh saw what had happened and what it might mean for him.  He had left the hall door open after his visit to the front, and some wandering bird of the night had entered the house.  No need for him to go now.  No need to hide either from the hangman’s rope or the felon’s cell.  The fool above had saved him.  He turned and ran up stairs again just as the prisoner in his furious efforts to escape wrenched the handle from the door.

“Who’s there?” he cried, loudly.