whisky. Very slowly he drained the remaining contents. Then he sat upright and gently touched his injured leg. It felt hard and tight. Whoever had done the bandaging had made up in force what he had lacked in skill, but the numbness of a too tight wrapping was an intense relief after his hour of agony. He limped across the long room to the entrance-hall and stood at length in the doorway of the mahogany-furnished dining-room guarded by the row of gendarme chairs.

This last evidence was conclusive. In some way he had gained admittance to the house with the barred gate. Evidently there had been some one close at hand when he fainted; some one who had authority to carry him through those impregnable doors. The thought gave him an uncanny feeling. But where was this gum-shod combination of mystery and mercy? In the curious way that the senses convey such intelligence he felt that the house was empty.

"Well, if I've got to stay here alone all night," he said to himself, "I'm going to see what this place looks like."

And so, using two light willow chairs as crutches, he started upon a slow tour of exploration. Through the swinging doors he passed into a butler's pantry and then into the kitchen. It was a large cheerful room with laundry in the rear. But although there were no soiled dishes about, it had an undefinable air of untidiness and neglect. A crumpled dish-towel was under the table. The sink was grimy and the stove spotted with grease. Even to Kenwick's inexpert eyes the room appeared somehow dirty and repellant.

He set the wine-glass that he had brought from the front room on the table and tried the back door. It was locked on the outside. Every door and window that he had tested so far was similarly barred. With a vague feeling of misgiving he returned to the drawing-room. It was very late. The alabaster clock on the mantel was ticking its way toward midnight. He felt ravenously hungry but shrank from touching any of the food upon the pantry shelves. He decided that until his host arrived he would sit in the den, a companionable little room, whose deep leather chairs invited him. The porte-cochère was on this side of the house and the home-comers, whoever they were, would doubtless enter there. No fire burned on the hearth but the house was comfortably and evenly warm. It was apparent that the caretaker was an expert furnace-man.

Kenwick was about to sink into one of the big chairs opposite the huge antlers of a deer when suddenly an object caught his eye. He struggled over to the telephone and took down the 

 Prev. P 5/140 next