’I don’t know,—­I dare say we did; I don’t fancy that either of us stood on the order of his coming.’

While he spoke, he scrambled over the sill.  We followed.  When he was in, he shouted at the top of his voice,

‘Marjorie!  Marjorie!  Speak to me, Marjorie,—­it is I,—­Sydney!’

The words echoed through the house.  Only silence answered.  He led the way to the front room.  Suddenly he stopped.

‘Hollo!’ he cried.  ‘The blind’s down!’ I had noticed, when we were outside, that the blind was down at the front room window.  ’It was up when I went, that I’ll swear.  That someone has been here is pretty plain,—­let’s hope it’s Marjorie.’

He had only taken a step forward into the room when he again stopped short to exclaim.

’My stars!—­here’s a sudden clearance!—­Why, the place is empty,—­ everything’s clean gone!’

‘What do you mean?—­was it furnished when you left?’

The room was empty enough then.

’Furnished?—­I don’t know that it was exactly what you’d call furnished,—­the party who ran this establishment had a taste in upholstery which was all his own,—­but there was a carpet, and a bed, and—­and lots of things,—­for the most part, I should have said, distinctly Eastern curiosities.  They seem to have evaporated into smoke,—­which may be a way which is common enough among Eastern curiosities, though it’s queer to me.’

Atherton was staring about him as if he found it difficult to credit the evidence of his own eyes.

‘How long ago is it since you left?’

He referred to his watch.

’Something over an hour,—­possibly an hour and a half; I couldn’t swear to the exact moment, but it certainly isn’t more.’

‘Did you notice any signs of packing up?’

‘Not a sign.’  Going to the window he drew up the blind,—­speaking as he did so.  ’The queer thing about this business is that when we first got in this blind wouldn’t draw up a little bit, so, since it wouldn’t go up I pulled it down, roller and all, now it draws up as easily and smoothly as if it had always been the best blind that ever lived.’

Standing at Sydney’s back I saw that the cabman on his box was signalling to us with his outstretched hand.  Sydney perceived him too.  He threw up the sash.

‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Excuse me, sir, but who’s the old gent?’

‘What old gent?’

’Why the old gent peeping through the window of the room upstairs?’

The words were hardly out of the driver’s mouth when Sydney was through the door and flying up the staircase.  I followed rather more soberly,—­his methods were a little too flighty for me.  When I reached the landing, dashing out of the front room he rushed into the one at the back,—­then through a door at the side.  He came out shouting.

’What’s the idiot mean!—­with his old gent!  I’d old gent him if I got him!—­There’s not a creature about the place!’