Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/257

 paused there, at one side, so as not to present a target if by some chance the room was inhabited. They could hear nothing, though the window was slightly open and they would have been able to distinguish the sound of regular breathing had someone been sleeping within.

“O.K., I guess, Eddie,” whispered Val.

“Yes, sir,” replied Eddie, sibilantly. “Shall we go in, sir?”

Val nodded. Cautiously he pushed the window open and stepped in over the low sill. Eddie followed him. The room was still as the grave. It was not possible to see anything.

“Got the flash, sir?” inquired Eddie.

“Here it is,” said Val, producing it, and pressing the button. “Oh, the devil!” he exclaimed in exasperation, as no beam of light rewarded his efforts.

“Hang it all!” he whispered. “The battery’s dead.”

“‘Wait a minute,” said Eddie. “I’ll pull down the shades, and we can switch on the lights. We’ll be out of here in a moment, anyway, sir—long before old boy Teck ever gets back.”

“Go ahead,” consented Val. It seemed safe enough. Eddie pulled the shades down carefully, first closing the windows tightly. In an instant the room was flooded with a glare of electric light.

They looked around them cautiously, silently, though there seemed no particular need for silence. The books were not in evidence, but that was to be expected, of course.

“Here, let’s try this suitcase,” said Val. He opened it. It was full of clothing. He tried another. It was locked.

“Eddie, the chisel,” he directed.

Eddie pried open the suitcase with his cold chisel,