"He always sits there," I said. "I suppose my uncle taught him to originally, and now he thinks it belongs to him. We shall find him in exactly the same place when we come down to breakfast." Manning, who had been watching the dog's proceedings with a curious intentness, rose slowly to his feet. "I don't think I'll have a drink," he remarked. "It's a little early and I haven't got your cast-iron constitution. Bed seems to me the best notion. I've a sort of feeling that after I've finished this cigarette I shall be able to put in a couple of hours' sleep." "Well, as I told you before, take it easy," I replied. "The eggs and bacon will keep till we're ready for them." We set off up the staircase, and, pausing for a moment in the passage, Manning once more expressed his apologies. "You're a real sportsman, Dryden," he said. "I should have been horribly peevish myself if anyone had dragged me out of bed at this unholy hour." "I generally wake up in an amiable mood," I replied. "It's only a matter of good health and having the right kind of whisky." I watched him go into his room and close the door, and then, feeling uncommonly thankful that I had not got to be civil to him any longer, I proceeded to follow his example. I had bungled the business beyond any manner of doubt, and I was so angry with my own stupidity that I very nearly hurled the poker into the grate. It was maddening to think that if I had only displayed an ounce of gumption I might by now have got to the bottom of the whole infernal mystery. Instead of doing this, I had allowed Manning to walk clean out of the trap, and no doubt, in the security of his own room, he was laughing to himself over the easy way in which he had outwitted me. The only consolation that remained was the fact that there was no further reason for keeping awake. I could at least turn into bed and get a few hours' sleep, with the comforting assurance that I was not neglecting my job. Whatever else Manning might have left in the hall, he would certainly manage to do without it as long as Satan was sitting on the mat. CHAPTER ELEVEN "Just gorn 'aff-past eight, sir." I opened my eyes with some resentment, and found Bascomb standing beside me, a cup of tea in his hand. I blinked at him for a moment and then sat up in bed. "Might it be you as got up in the night and let Satan in?" he enquired surlily. For a second I hesitated, wondering how much he knew. "Were you awake?" I asked. He shook his head. "No, I didn't 'ear nothin', but when I come through this mornin', danged if 'e wasn't sitting there on the mat." He placed the cup on a small table beside me, and, crossing the room, drew up the blind.