Wogan mounted the stairs, not daring to speculate upon the nature of the bad news.

But his face was pale beneath its sunburn, and his hand trembled on the balustrade; for he knew--in his heart he knew.

There could be only one piece of news which would make his haste or tardiness matters of no account.
Both branches of the stairs ran up to a common landing, and in the wall facing him, midway between the two stairheads, was a great door of tulip wood.

An usher stood by the door, and at Wogan's approach opened it.
Wogan, however, signed to him to be silent.

He wished to hear, not to speak, and so he slipped into the room unannounced.