The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [5246]
With that he moved stealthily off, and I stood there, my heart beating with unusual rapidity, listening--listening for a challenge, a cry, a scuffle--I knew not what to expect.
Cavernous and dimly lighted, the corridor stretched away to my left. On the right it branched sharply in the direction of the gallery overlooking the hall.
The seconds passed, but no sound rewarded my alert listening--until, very faintly, but echoing in a muffled, church-like fashion around that peculiar building, came a slight, almost sibilant sound, which I took to be the gentle closing of a distant door.
Whilst I was still wondering if I had really heard this sound or merely imagined it:
"Who goes there?" came sharply in Harley's voice.
I heard a faint click, and knew that he had shone the light of an electric torch down into the hall.
I hesitated no longer, but ran along to join him. As I came to the head of the main staircase, however, I saw him crossing the hall below. He was making in the direction of the door which shut off the servants' quarters. Here he paused, and I saw him trying the handle. Evidently the door was locked, for he turned and swept the white ray all about the place. He tried several other doors, but found them all to be locked, for presently he came upstairs again, smiling grimly when he saw me there awaiting him.
"Did you hear it, Knox?" he said.
"A sound like the closing of a door?"
Paul Harley nodded.
"It _was_ the closing of a door," he replied; "but before that I had distinctly heard a stair creak. Someone crossed the hall then, Knox. Yet, as you perceive for yourself, it affords no hiding-place."
His glance met and challenged mine.
"The Colonel's visitor has left him," he murmured. "Unless something quite unforeseen occurs, I shall throw up the case to-morrow."
CHAPTER XII
MORNING MISTS
The man known as Manoel awakened me in the morning. Although characteristically Spanish, he belonged to a more sanguine type than the butler and spoke much better English than Pedro. He placed upon the table beside me a tray containing a small pot of China tea, an apple, a peach, and three slices of toast.
"How soon would you like your bath, sir?" he enquired.
"In about half an hour," I replied.
"Breakfast is served at 9.30 if you wish, sir," continued Manoel, "but the ladies rarely come down. Would you prefer to breakfast in your room?"
"What is Mr. Harley doing?"
"He tells me that he does not take breakfast, sir. Colonel Don Juan Menendez will be unable to ride with you this morning, but a groom will accompany you to the heath if you wish, which is the best place for a gallop. Breakfast on the south veranda is very pleasant, sir, if you are riding first."
"Good," I replied, for indeed I felt strangely heavy; "it shall be the heath, then, and breakfast on the veranda."
Having drunk a cup of tea and dressed I went into Harley's room, to find him propped up in bed reading the _Daily Telegraph_ and smoking a cigarette.
"I am off for a ride," I said. "Won't you join me?"
He fixed his pillows more comfortably, and slowly shook his head.
"Not a bit of it, Knox," he replied, "I find exercise to be fatal to concentration."
"I know you have weird theories on the subject, but this is a beautiful morning."
"I grant you the beautiful morning, Knox, but here you will find me when you return."
I knew him too well to debate the point, and accordingly I left him to his newspaper and cigarette, and made my way downstairs. A housemaid was busy in the hall, and in the courtyard before the monastic porch a negro groom awaited me with two fine mounts. He touched his hat and grinned expansively as I appeared. A spirited young chestnut was saddled for my use, and the groom, who informed me that his name was Jim, rode a smaller, Spanish horse, a beautiful but rather wicked- looking creature.
We proceeded down the drive. Pedro was