"The door's open!" he exclaimed. "Open! Not even on the latch. Come on!"
Melky shrank back at the prospect of the unlighted hall. There was a
horror in the garden, in that bright moonlight--what might there not be in
that black, silent house?
"Well, turn that there bull's eye on!" he said. "I don't half fancy this
sort of exploration. We'd ought to have had revolvers, you know."
Ayscough turned on the light and advanced into the hall. There was nothing
there beyond what one would expect to see in the hall of a well-furnished
house, nor was there anything but good furniture, soft carpets, and old
pictures to look at in the first room into which he and Melky glanced. But
in the room behind there were evidences of recent occupation--a supper-
table was laid: there was food on it, a cold fowl, a tongue--one plate had
portions of both these viands laid on it, with a knife and fork crossed
above them; on another plate close by, a slice of bread lay, broken and
crumbled--all the evidences showed that supper had been laid for two, that
only one had sat down to it: that he had been interrupted at the very
beginning of his meal--a glass half-full of a light French wine stood near
the pushed-aside plate.
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