The noise had seemed to come from the drawing room, and it was followed by complete stillness.
Amberley came softly out of his room with a gun in one hand and a torch in the other, and stood for a moment listening intently.
A board creaked somewhere below; Amberley began to descend the stairs in the darkness, making no sound.
At that moment the door of Sir Humphrey's room was wrenched open and Sir Humphrey hurried out. "Who's there?" he demanded and switched on the light at the top of the stairs.
Amberley said something under his breath and reached the hall in a couple of bounds. He was too late; when he flashed his torch round the drawing room it was empty. The French window was swinging wide, and the curtain bellied into the room in the draught. Amberley tore it aside and looked out. The moonlight flooded the garden, but there were patches of shadow cast by the trees. No one was in sight, the torch-beam revealed no lurking form. Whoever had broken into the house was by now well on his way to the road, and to follow would be a futile task.
Mr. Amberley went back into the drawing room and inspected the window. Two small panes of glass had been neatly cut out, enabling the burglar to unbolt the window, top and bottom.
Sir Humphrey's voice was upraised. "What the devil are you up to, Frank?" it demanded wrathfully. "Are we never to have a night in peace?"
Amberley strolled back to the hall. "Just come down here, Uncle," he said.
"I've no wish to do anything of the kind! What are you playing at?"
"You've had a visitor," said Amberley, and wandered back to the drawing room and stood in the doorway surveying the chaos there.
Sir Humphrey joined him. "It wasn't you? do you mean to say… God bless my soul!"
The ejaculation was provoked by the sight that met his eyes. To a tidy man it was certainly startling. Someone would seem to have been frenziedly searching for something. The room was turned upside down; cushions, books, papers were scattered higgledy-piggledy over the floor. The drawers of Lady Matthews' bureau were all open and the contents thrown out. In the tiled fireplace the broken pieces of a large vase added to the litter. Obviously the intruder had accidentally knocked it over, and it was the noise of the smash that had awakened the household.
The window next caught Sir Humphrey's dazed eye. He repeated rather feebly: "God bless my soul!" and stared at Amberley.
"We'd better have a look round," said Amberley, and led the way to the library.
Here the confusion was even worse, while the condition of Sir Humphrey's study drew a faint moan from its unfortunate owner. His desk had been ransacked, and all his papers had been cast recklessly onto the floor.
"God bless my soul!" said Sir Humphrey for the third time. "It's a burglary!"
His nephew looked at him with scant respect. "How do you think these things out so quickly?" he inquired. "Hullo Aunt. Come to look at the wreckage?"
Lady Matthews, with her hair in curlers and cold cream on her face, stood in the doorway looking interestedly round. She was not in the least put out. She said: "Dear me, how exciting! Such a muddle! Poor Jenkins! Why the study?"
Amberley nodded. "You have a way of hitting the nail the head, Aunt Marion, though no one would ever think it. Do tell me why you're plastered with white stuff'
"Face cream, my dear. At my age so necessary. Do I look odd?"
"Quite ghastly," Amberley assured her.
Sir Humphrey danced with impatience. "Good God, Frank, what has your aunt's face to do with it? Look at my desk! Look at my papers!"
"Much better look for the silver, dear," said his wife. "Or does Jenkins take it upstairs? Murdered in his bed, perhaps. Someone had better go and find out."
But Jenkins had not been murdered. He appeared at that moment with a coat and trousers put on hastily over his pyjamas. Sir Humphrey greeted him with relief and was not disappointed. Jenkins' feelings rivalled his own, and the two mourned together until Mr. Amberley intervened.
"Take a look at the valuables, Jenkins," he requested.
Jenkins went off at once. Sir Humphrey took his wife to see the damage done to the drawing-room window, and Mr. Amberley stood in the middle of the litter in the study, frowning.
He was joined soon by his cousin, who was in high fettle but indignant that no one had seen fit to rouse her. Mr. Arnberley evinced a mild interest in the methods usually employed by her maid when calling her in the morning.
Jenkins came back to report that so far as he could tell without making an inventory of the silver, nothing was missing. The dining room had not been touched, and the Georgian saltcellars were still reposing on the sideboard.
Mr. Amberley went in search of his uncle, whom he found raging over the damage done to his window. Lady Matthews was placidly agreeing with him.
"I want you to come and see whether anything is missing from your study, Uncle," said Amberley.
"How the devil am I to tell?" said Sir Humphrey. "It will take me hours to get my papers in order again! Upon my word, it sometimes seems to me there's no law left in England!"
"Did you keep anything of value in your desk?" interrupted Amberley.
"No, I did not. It is some slight comfort to me to know that this damned thief's labour was entirely fruitless!"
"No money? You're quite sure?"
"Of course I'm sure! Do you suppose I should be likely to leave any money about?"
"You, Aunt?"
"No, my dear. Only bills and things. So dull for him. What do you suppose he wanted?"
"I don't suppose anything. I'm in the dark at the moment." He looked round the room, his eyes narrowed and speculative. "The drawing room, the study, the library, but not the dining room. Queer. It would seem as though you've got something that someone else wants rather badly, Uncle. A document?"
"Certainly not! Any important papers are lodged at my bank. Not that they could be of the slightest interest to anyone but myself."
"Why throw books on the floor?" said Lady Matthews. "So unnecessary, I feel."
Amberley looked quickly across at her. "Books! Good God!"
"Go on, Frank, what?" squeaked Felicity. "I do call this fun!"
Amberley paid no heed to her. "Where's that book you borrowed from Fountain, sir?"
"In my room. I took it up to bed with me. What has…' Amberley turned. "Get it, will you, Jenkins? Curiosities of Literature."
Lady Matthews sat down. "How delightfully mysterious," she said. "Why the book, my dear?"
"I rather think that it was the book that was wanted," replied Amberley. "I hope so anyway."
Jenkins came back, the book in his hand, and gave it to him. Amberley flicked over the leaves, shook it, peered down the back, carefully felt the thickness of the boards.
"Too thrilling!" murmured Lady Matthews.
But Amberley was looking puzzled. "I seem to be wrong," he said. "Yet somehow — I don't think I am." He glanced thoughtfully at his uncle. "I wonder."
"What do you wonder?" said Sir Humphrey. "Pray don't be obscure!"
"Whether anyone entered your room tonight," said Amberley.
Sir Humphrey, who like many others had an entirely erroneous belief that he was a light sleeper, was indignant. He was ready to swear that no one could possibly have entered his room without waking him.
His wife interposed. "Dear Frank, all most intriguing, but don't annoy your uncle."
"Sorry, Aunt. It's all rather disappointing. I'm going back to bed."
Sir Humphrey demanded to know what was to stop the burglar returning through the damaged window. Mr. Amberley professed complete unconcern. He was still holding the book, and he went out carrying it with him.
Chapter Twelve