For a full hour, Ashton-Kirk moved up and down the library, his eyes
half closed, varying expressions appearing and disappearing upon his
face. At length there came a smile of satisfaction and he paused in
his pacing.

"That is probably it," said he. "At any rate it is a very favorable
coincidence. However, I must have more information than the hurried
reports of Burgess and Fuller to be certain. Yes, this promises to be
interesting."

With that he went to his room and to bed.

The dull gray of a damp spring morning was peering in at his window
when he awoke. By the light he knew that it was hours before his usual
time. Something had aroused him; but he could not say what. He sat up
in bed, and as he did so there came the long continued and smothered
ringing of a bell.

"The telephone," said he.

"R-r-r-r-ring-g!" it persisted. And then again:
"R-r-r-r-ring-ing-ing! R-r-r-ring!"

Ashton-Kirk heard a door open and close softly on the floor above;
then slippered feet came pat-patting down the stairs. The wild rattle
of the bell suddenly stopped; a muffled voice could be heard
protesting dismally against the din. But suddenly the vague complaint
gave way to a higher note.

"Alarm," said Ashton-Kirk. "Something has happened."