Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/136

 Something of the mood of resentment that was in the living room enveloped Eddie’s senses, some emotion that a stranger, an intruder, had been there. Of course, there was the evidence of the open window, but he would have known, even without that.

He tiptoed out into the hall again and paused for a moment in front of his master’s door, listening for the regular breathing that he usually could hear at this time of the night. He heard nothing at all. He had slept soundly all through the visit of the chauffeur who had come to bear his master away, and consequently knew nothing of it, so there was something alarming in the fact that, along with the open window in the living room, he could not hear his employer breathing.

He placed his hand on the knob and tried it; it opened quietly, and he pushed the door open suddenly, out of patience with all this early morning mystery and tired of the obvious necessity for quiet. With a swift movement he switched on the light. The bed had not been slept on.

He surveyed the room hastily. Nothing had been disturbed, as in the living room.

“M-mm!” he reflected. “Something phoney about this—window open, Mr. Morley gone. He didn’t go through the window, I guess.” He considered this for a brief space, looking around the room for something which he had missed. He stepped quickly into the living room and glanced around quickly in there. His brow contracted in further worry.

The books were gone again.

He could not suppress an amused smile at this. “Like a bloomin’ game of ‘button, button, who’s got the button? he commented.