but sleep did not come and they were still discussing the extraordinary chain of tragic events when Lorne stopped in the middle of a sentence and held up a warning hand.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered after a moment.
"What? Don't let your nerves run away with you, old man.
"Nerves nothing! Don't speak aloud! I'm sure I heard a step out in the hall."
"Well, I didn't, and I've keener ears than you," retorted Titheredge.
Lorne padded softly to the door and listened for a space of several minutes, then turned away with a sigh of relief.
"I guess I must have been mistaken. I'll go to pieces myself, like Gene, if I'm not careful. God! I wish this night would end, and we could get hold of that young fellow you spoke of! Perhaps it would be better, though, to go to some private detective agency and avoid the police."
"And have your home overrun with operatives, every member of your household shadowed and their affairs investigated; and nothing to show for it but a bill as long as a Japanese letter?" Titheredge demanded contemptuously. "Use your head, Dick! I wouldn't recommend this young—"
He paused, silenced by a swift gesture from his companion.
"Listen! Do you hear it—that grating, gnawing sound?" It was a cool September night and the windows were open, but the sweat was pouring down Lorne's chubby countenance. He padded to the door as before, then beckoned insistently, "Come over here! Don't you dare pretend—"
