He took a knife out of his pocket, and, with the open blade, forced back the catch,—­as I am told that burglars do.  Then he lifted the sash.

‘Behold!’ he exclaimed.  ’What did I tell you?—­Now, my dear Marjorie, if I get in first and Mr Holt gets in after me, we shall be in a position to open the door for you.’

I immediately saw through his design.

’No, Mr Atherton; you will get in first, and I will get in after you, through the window,—­before Mr Holt.  I don’t intend to wait for you to open the door.’

Sydney raised his hands and opened his eyes, as if grieved at my want of confidence.  But I did not mean to be left in the lurch, to wait their pleasure, while on pretence of opening the door, they searched the house.  So Sydney climbed in first, and I second,—­it was not a difficult operation, since the window-sill was under three feet from the ground—­and Mr Holt last.  Directly we were in, Sydney put his hand up to his mouth, and shouted.

’Is there anybody in this house?  If so, will he kindly step this way, as there is someone wishes to see him.’

His words went echoing through the empty rooms in a way which was almost uncanny.  I suddenly realised that if, after all, there did happen to be somebody in the house, and he was at all disagreeable, our presence on his premises might prove rather difficult to explain.  However, no one answered.  While I was waiting for Sydney to make the next move, he diverted my attention to Mr Holt.

’Hollo, Holt, what’s the matter with you?  Man, don’t play the fool like that!’

Something was the matter with Mr Holt.  He was trembling all over as if attacked by a shaking palsy.  Every muscle in his body seemed twitching at once.  A strained look had come on his face, which was not nice to see.  He spoke as with an effort.

‘I’m all right.—­It’s nothing.’

’Oh, is it nothing?  Then perhaps you’ll drop it.  Where’s that brandy?’ I handed Sydney the flask.  ‘Here, swallow this.’

Mr Holt swallowed the cupful of neat spirit which Sydney offered without an attempt at parley.  Beyond bringing some remnants of colour to his ashen cheeks it seemed to have no effect on him whatever.  Sydney eyed him with a meaning in his glance which I was at a loss to understand.

’Listen to me, my lad.  Don’t think you can deceive me by playing any of your fool tricks, and don’t delude yourself into supposing that I shall treat you as anything but dangerous if you do.  I’ve got this.’  He showed the revolver of papa’s which I had lent him.  ’Don’t imagine that Miss Lindon’s presence will deter me from using it.’

Why he addressed Mr Holt in such a strain surpassed my comprehension.  Mr Holt, however, evinced not the faintest symptoms of resentment,—­he had become, on a sudden, more like an automaton than a man.  Sydney continued to gaze at him as if he would have liked his glance to penetrate to his inmost soul.