of anything, he was conscious of two things. One was that he was
shivering with cold, the other that he was afraid.

Wrayson was by no means a coward. He had come once or twice in his life
into close touch with dangerous happenings, and conducted himself with
average pluck. He never attempted to conceal from himself, however, that
these few minutes were minutes of breathless, unreasoning fear. His heart
was thumping against his side, and the muscles at the back of his neck
were almost numb as he slowly looked round the room. His eyes paused at
the door. It was slightly open, to his nervous fancy it seemed to be
shaking. His teeth chattered, he felt his forehead, and it was wet.

He rose to his feet and listened. There was no sound anywhere, from above
or below. He tried to remember what it was that had awakened him so
suddenly. He could remember nothing except that awful start. Something
must have disturbed him! He listened again. Still no sound. He drew a
little breath, and, with his eyes glued upon the half-closed door,
recollected that he himself had left it open that he might hear Barnes go
upstairs. With a little laugh, still not altogether natural, he moved to
the spirit decanter and drank off half a wineglassful of neat whisky!

"Nerves," he said softly to himself. "This won't do! What an idiot I was
to go to sleep there!"

He glanced at the clock. It was five minutes to three. Then he moved
towards the door, and stood for several moments with the handle in his
hand. Gradually his confidence was returning. He listened attentively.
There was not a sound to be heard in the entire building. He turned back
into the room with a little sigh of relief.