The two men stood in the darkness, silent and with beating hearts. A glimmer of light came from the fire and struck across into the bedroom. Leonard listened with all his ears. He distinctly heard stealthy footsteps coming along the passage, which was on the other side of the wall against which stood the wardrobe. The footsteps paused at the sitting-room door. They heard this open, and scarcely dared to breathe. Some one entered the room, and waited for a moment or so, evidently listening. Then the door was opened and closed again, and the footsteps died away. Even then Brendon stopped Leonard from lighting the candles. "Go to bed in the dark," he said softly. "Was it Mrs. Jersey?" asked Leonard. "Of course it was. She came to see if you were in bed." "But why should she?" "I can't say. There's something queer about that old woman. Get to bed, Leonard. You can light your candle in your own room. I shall not light mine." Train was bursting with indignation. "But it's absurd to be treated like a couple of schoolboys," he said, taking his candlestick. "There's more in it than that," said Brendon, pushing him to the door. "Get to bed, and make no noise. We can talk in the morning." Train darted across the sitting-room, and retired. Brendon closed his door softly, and listened again. There was no return of the footsteps, so he slipped into bed without relighting the candle. The clock in the sitting-room chimed a quarter past eleven. CHAPTER III THE NEXT MORNING "Fogs and smokes and chokes," said the fat cook, her elbows on the table, and a saucer of tea at her lips. "I wish I were back in Essex, that I do." "The fogs come from there," cried Jarvey, who was page-boy in the Jersey mansion, and knew more than was good for him. "If they drained them marshes, fogs wouldn't come here. Old Rasper says so, and knows a lot, he does." "He don't know Essex," grunted the cook. "A lovely county----" "For frogs," sniggered Jarvey, devouring his slice of bread. The housemaid joined in and declared for Devon, whence she came. The Swiss manservant talked of his native mountains, and was sneered at by the company generally as a foreigner. Jarvey was particularly insolent, and poor Fritz was reduced to swearing in his own language, whereupon they laughed the more. It was a most inspiriting beginning to the day's work. The kitchen in the basement was a large stone apartment, and even on the brightest of days not very well lighted. On this particular morning the gas was burning, and was likely to continue alight during the day, as the fog was as thick as ever. The servants collected round the table were having an early cup of tea. To assist the progress of digestion they conversed as above, and gradually drifted into talking of their mistress and of the boarders. Miss Bull in particular seemed to be disliked. "She's a sly cat, with that white face of hers," said the cook. "Twice she said the soup was burnt. I never liked her."