Rolfe remained watching the house for some time, but no sign or sound of
life could he detect in its silent desolation. "I must have been
mistaken," he muttered, with a final glance at the windows of the first
story. "There's nobody in the house."
He turned to go, and had taken a few steps through the pinewood when
suddenly he started and stood still. His quick ear had caught a faint
sound--a kind of rattle--coming from the direction of the house. What was
that noise which sounded so strangely familiar to his ears? He had it! It
was the fall of a Venetian blind. Instantaneously there came to Rolfe
the remembrance that Inspector Chippenfield had ordered the library blind
to be left up, so that when the sun was high in the heavens its rays,
striking in through the window over the top of the chestnut-tree, might
dry up the stain of blood on the floor, which washing had failed to
efface. Somebody was in the library and had dropped the blind.
Rolfe hurriedly retraced his steps to the edge of the plantation, and
raced across the Italian garden, feeling for his revolver as he ran. Some
instinct told him that he would find entrance through the French windows
on the west side of the morning room, and thither he directed his steps.
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