The chief cause of his lingering was his desire to obtain the revolver
belonging to Miss Marlowe. Recalling the paucity of firearms among the
people on the boat he felt that a single weapon could be ill spared.
But above and beyond this cold truth was a vague, shuddering suspicion,
amounting to a belief, that the young woman would soon need that very
weapon; that, without it she would become another of the unspeakable
victims of the fiends who made the Sepoy Mutiny one of the most hideous
blots that darken the pages of history. He compressed his lips and
swore that the revolver should be recovered, if the thing were
possible, failing in which he would compel her to take his own.

The first thing was to learn whether there was more than one person in
the house and what business had brought them there. His own return was
not expected, so that that advantage was in his favor. He stepped
lightly upon the veranda and, like a burglar in his stocking feet,
passed across the porch and pushed back the door far enough to admit
him. This required but a few inches, and the hinges gave out not the
slightest creak. The entrance to the dining-room was closed, so that
all was darkness, but he plainly saw the yellow thread along the edges
of the door, caused by the lamp in the room beyond.

Once within the hall he listened intently, but could not detect the
slightest sound within the building. He had already drawn his
revolver, and held it ready for instant use. Knowing the value of
seconds, he began moving along the hall toward the door, which was only
a few paces distant, and had passed half the space when a muttered
execration escaped him, for his foot struck some object that was kicked
the remaining length of the hall with a clatter that he verily believed
must have been heard by his friends on the boat.