The balmy air of the night might tempt visitors on to the
terrace if the play did not prove exciting, and if the talk became stale
and wearisome. So Rosmore waited. He did not intend to enter the house,
and a little delay was of no consequence. Only one man besides himself
could know the secret which the leather case held, and that other man
was far away from Aylingford.
Most of the windows in the Abbey were dark when Rosmore crossed the
bridge to the terrace and walked lightly towards the ruins, careful to
let the shadows hide him as much as possible. Entering the ruins, he
drew the case from his pocket and took out the key. By Martin's tower he
stood for a moment to listen, but no sound came to startle him, and he
fitted the key into the lock. The door opened easily, and Rosmore
entered, closing it again and locking it on the inside. Gently as he did
it, the sound echoed weirdly up the winding stairs. The door at the top,
and that of Martin's room, hung broken on their hinges. Nothing had been
done to them since the night they were forced open in the attempt to
capture Gilbert Crosby; nor did it appear that Martin had occupied his
room since then.
Pages:
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420