respiration not a sound throughout the house advertised its inhabitation;
not a board creaked beneath the pressure of a foot, not a mouse rustled in
the wainscoting or beneath the floors, not a breath of air stirred sighing
in the stillness.

And yet, a tremendous racket had been raised at the front door, within the
sixty seconds past! And yet, within twenty minutes two persons, at
least, had preceded Kirkwood into the building! Had they not heard? The
speculation seemed ridiculous. Or had they heard and, alarmed, been too
effectually hobbled by the coils of their nefarious designs to dare reveal
themselves, to investigate the cause of that thunderous summons? Or were
they, perhaps, aware of Kirkwood's entrance, and lying _perdui_, in some
dark corner, to ambush him as he passed?

True, that were hardly like the girl. True, on the other hand, it
were possible that she had stolen away while Kirkwood was hanging in
irresolution by the passage to Quadrant Mews. Again, the space of time
between Kirkwood's dismissal and his return had been exceedingly brief;
whatever her errand, she could hardly have fulfilled it and escaped. At
that moment she might be in the power and at the mercy of him who had
followed her; providing he were not friendly. And in that case, what
torment and what peril might not be hers?

Spurred by solicitude, the young man put personal apprehensions in his
pocket and forgot them, cautiously picking his way through the gloom to the
foot of the stairs. There, by the newel-post, he paused. Darkness walled
him about. Overhead the steps vanished in a well of blackness; he could
not even see the ceiling; his eyes ached with futile effort to fathom the
unknown; his ears rang with unrewarded strain of listening. The silence
hung inviolate, profound.