In such a house, in such a room, with the shadow of that
old four-poster winding its long fingers over him, Merriton began to
perspire. It was so devilish uncanny! He was a brave enough man in human
matters, but somehow these flames out there in the uninhabited stretch of
the marshes were surely caused by no human agency. Go and investigate he
would, this very minute! He drew in his head and brought the window down
with a bang that went sounding through the gaunt, deserted old house.
Hastily he began to dress, and even as he struggled into a pair of tweed
trousers came the sound of a soft knock upon his door, and he whipped
round as though he had been shot, his nerves all a-jingle from the very
atmosphere of the place.
"And who the devil are you?" he snapped out in an angry voice, all the
more angry since he was conscious of a slight trembling of the knees. The
door swung open a trifle and the pale face of Borkins appeared around it.
His eyes were wide with fright, his mouth hung open.
"Sir Nigel, sir. I 'eard a dreadful noise--like a pistol shot it was,
comin' from this room! Anythink the matter, sir?"
"Nothing, you ass!" broke out Merriton, fretfully, as the butler began
to show other parts of his anatomy round the corner of the door.
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