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He rapped sharply on the panel.

‘Armstrong—Armstrong.’

There was no answer.

Lombard dropped to his knees and peered through the keyhole. He inserted his little finger gingerly into the lock.

He said:

‘Key’s not in the door on the inside.’

Blore said:

‘That means he locked it on the outside and took it with him.’

Philip nodded.

‘Ordinary precaution to take. We’ll get him, Blore… This time, we’ll get him! Half a second.’

He raced along to Vera’s room.

‘Vera.’

‘Yes.’

‘We’re hunting Armstrong. He’s out of his room. Whatever you do, don’t open your door. Understand?’

‘Yes, I understand.’

‘If Armstrong comes along and says that I’ve been killed, or Blore’s been killed, pay no attention. See?

Only open your door if both Blore and I speak to you.

Got that?’

Vera said:

‘Yes. I’m not a complete fool.’

Lombard said:

‘Good.’

He joined Blore. He said:

‘And now—after him! The hunt’s up!’

Blore said:

‘We’d better be careful. He’s got a revolver, remember.’

Philip Lombard racing down the stairs chuckled.

He said:

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ He undid the front door, remarking, ‘Latch pushed back—so he could get in again easily.’

He went on:

‘I’ve got that revolver!’ He took it half out of his pocket as he spoke. ‘Found it put back in my drawer tonight.’

Blore stopped dead on the doorstep. His face changed. Philip Lombard saw it.

‘Don’t be a damned fool, Blore! I’m not going to shoot you! Go back and barricade yourself in if you like! I’m off after Armstrong.’

He started off into the moonlight. Blore, after a minute’s hesitation, followed him.

He thought to himself:

‘I suppose I’m asking for it. After all—’

After all he had tackled criminals armed with revolvers before now. Whatever else he lacked, Blore did not lack courage. Show him the danger and he would tackle it pluckily. He was not afraid of danger in the open, only of danger undefined and tinged with the supernatural.

VI

Vera, left to await results, got up and dressed.

She glanced over once or twice at the door. It was a good solid door. It was both bolted and locked and had an oak chair wedged under the handle.

It could not be broken open by force. Certainly not by Dr Armstrong. He was not a physically powerful man.

If she were Armstrong intent on murder, it was cunning that she would employ, not force.

She amused herself by reflecting on the means he might employ.

He might, as Philip had suggested, announce that one of the other two men was dead. Or he might possibly pretend to be mortally wounded himself, might drag himself groaning to her door.

There were other possibilities. He might inform her that the house was on fire. More, he might actually set the house on fire… Yes, that would be a possibility. Lure the other two men out of the house, then, having previously laid a trail of petrol, he might set light to it. And she, like an idiot, would remain barricaded in her room until it was too late.

She crossed over to the window. Not too bad. At a pinch one could escape that way. It would mean a drop—but there was a handy flower-bed.