Then, stooping a little, he passed out into the narrow passage and opened the door into the kitchen behind, from which the woman who came to minister to their wants had some time ago departed.

Everything was in order here and spotlessly neat.

He climbed the narrow staircase, looked in at Furley's room and his own, and at the third apartment, in which had been rigged up a temporary bath.

The result was unilluminating.

He turned and descended the stairs.
"Either," he went on, with a very slight frown, "I am not psychic, or whatever may be happening is happening out of doors." He raised the latch of the door, under which a little pool of water was now standing, and leaned out.