He stepped back from the house, and presently saw, high up in the gabled roof, a beam of light was shining from a slit in a shutter or a badly-fitting blind. Probably some servant who could not sleep, or was frightened at the weather.
Cold and wet he returned to beneath his window, and with the practised skill of an athlete hauled himself up.
He stood in thought. Unless he had made a mistake things were happening in this house which were, to say the least, interesting. He opened the door, and slid down the bannisters without noise. Once in the hall he waited, holding his breath. The dining-room door was open, and, faint as it was, he caught the sound of a living thing breathing.
Like a cat he stole across the intervening space, and carefully put his hand round the edge of the doorway. Inch by inch the fingers crept till they touched the switch. A flood of light illuminated the room, and showed a man standing on the hearthrug, rigid. It was Eric Sanders. In his hand was a revolver. For a moment the two men gazed at each other without a word. A look of hate was on the face of Sanders.
“So,” he said, “it was you. I thought I could not be mistaken. You foul brute, you’re not fit to live,” and he raised his pistol.
“You’re very free with your shooter,” said Collins coolly. “May I ask for an explanation?”
“It is no good my saying anything. Of course you will deny everything, and so will she, but I heard.”
“You will excuse me, but I haven’t the faintest idea what on earth you are talking about.” His face was stern. “We don’t want to rouse the whole house at this hour. Hadn’t you better tell me what the trouble is? In the first place, what are you doing here at all?”
“You know perfectly well. It’s no good lying. I heard everything and came down here to see you. You are not going out of this room alive.”
Collins slowly drew out his case, and lit a cigarette. He knew a hasty action might force the issue.
“What did you hear?” he asked, casually.
“Oh, it’s no good. I could not sleep, you know why. Then I thought I would try a whiskey, which I never touch as a rule, so I came down. As I passed Mabel’s bedroom, I heard talking and—I know I ought not to have done, but I listened.”
“If it interests you to know,” said Collins, “I do not even know where Miss Watson’s bedroom is, so if I were you, I should hesitate to make any insinuations.”
The other was shaken by his firm tones.
“But I tell you I heard a man’s voice in there, and Mabel called him dear. And then she said ‘Go to the dining-room, I will join you there.’ ”
“And you pretend to love this girl, and dare to make such foul accusations. If Miss Watson was talking to anyone, it is her own business, and I am sure she has her own reasons. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. As for my being here, if you want to know, I could not sleep, and I heard someone moving about the house. I am an investigator as you know, and apart from the question of burglars, I am convinced there is something happening in this house which requires investigating. So I came down and found you here.”
Sanders looked at him doubtfully.
“But I tell you, Mabel was talking with a man in her bedroom.”
“You make me sick with your insinuations. How do you know it was a man? A woman can imitate a man’s voice as a man can a woman’s.”
Sanders was in perplexity, and slowly put the revolver on the table. Without any sudden movement Collins picked it up. “Is this yours?” he asked casually.
“No,” said Sanders. “It belonged to Sir James. I found it here among his papers.”
“Sir James was very fond of pistols,” said the other, “he had one in London, too.”
“Yes,” said Sanders, “he was always afraid of being attacked.”
“I wonder you did not have one, too,” said Collins.
“I did,” said Sanders and stopped.
Collins was quite at his ease. Sander’s fit of wild jealousy was passing away. “Lost it?” he said.
“Yes, I got rid of it,” said Sanders in some confusion.
“But we must not stay here; if you tell me on your word of honour it was not you I heard, I will apologize for my words.”
“Certainly I will, but it is to Miss Watson that an apology is due, not to me.”
“Of course I cannot mention it to her, she would never forgive me. And I hope you will not do so.”
Collins looked straight at him.
“I should advise you to keep these fits of excitement within bounds—and,” he added slowly, “when they do come on, to leave your revolver behind you.”
“What do you mean?” said Sanders, turning white.
“When you called on Sir James Watson and asked to see him, you were in one of those fits. It is dangerous.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you left your card under the door, with a note to say you must see him at once, I don’t suppose you forget the day,” and he looked at him with meaning.
“Are you suggesting that I—?”
“I am suggesting nothing,” said Collins, sternly. “I am citing facts.”
“If you think I had any hand in the murder, you had better arrest me,” said the other wildly.
“I am not a policeman, and do not go about arresting people. The police know their business. I am merely giving you a friendly warning against temper. And now I think I will go to bed. I am sure someone has been listening to our conversation. And if you don’t mind, I think I will take this.” And he picked up the revolver. Sanders watched him go without a word.
XIII
The Car in the Dark
In
