A leaf blowing against a window, that might have caused it. The creak of an old beam would have made the same sound. He waited in silence, and kept a tight grip on himself. No more strung-up nerves, whether this was a false alarm or not. Perhaps a minute later, he heard the click again.
With an exclamation of annoyance, Bill got to his feet, brushed aside the curtain, and peered into the hall.
He found himself face to face with Mr. Zenas Sanders.
“Good evening, Mr. Bolton,” said the intruder mockingly.
“Good evening,” Bill replied politely. “I don’t suppose it’s of any use to inquire how you got in?”
The man’s manner rather flabbergasted Bill. If there had been any suspicion of menace in Sanders’ attitude, Bill would have gone for him straightway with his fists.
“Not the slightest, Mr. Bolton!” And then with a nod and a smile, “Excuse me!”
As Bill was still holding the curtain aside, Sanders stepped past him into the lounge. On the table beside the lamp and book he laid a little automatic.
“No need for that, I hope,” he remarked pleasantly, and dropped into an armchair quite within reach of the revolver. He gave Bill that curious, quick, confidential nod, then took out a gold case and lighted a cigarette. He blew a thin spiral of smoke into the air with obvious enjoyment. For cool nerve, the man’s manner took Bill’s breath away.
“Without going into details,” he said offhandedly, “I’ve as much right here as you, so you’ll pardon me if I make myself at home, won’t you? Sit down—sit down, Bolton.” He pointed to a small seat at the side of the hearth.
“But I said, sit down!” Mr. Sanders’ voice was not raised in the least, but his words came at Bill like an order. A trifle dazed, he sank into the chair.
There was no reason why he shouldn’t have hurled the lamp in Sanders’ face, and in the darkness, pitched the table on top of him. But instead, for no reason he could give, Bill obeyed him, and sat waiting for him to speak. Naturally curious to fathom the reason for this visit, Bill was astounded by his attitude, considering what had happened in the motorboat.
“Thought I’d find you here, Bolton, so I’ve dropped in for a chat.”
Bill leaned back, looking at him, but said nothing.
Mr. Sanders raised his eyebrows, but the tone of his voice did not alter. “I take it that you’re a straightforward sort of fellow, Bolton. You know where you stand with them. I bear no malice for this afternoon’s performance—in fact I admire you. At the present moment, you’re hating me like poison, and the only justification you have is that I didn’t knock before I entered!”