crowing of a rooster ushering in his friend, the sun.
They knocked on the door, and waited a few minutes for an answer.
“Terrible time to go calling,” muttered Val. Dragging them out of bed at this time. Guess they won’t mind, though, when they hear what I have to say.”
He knocked again. Still there was no answer—no sign of life in the cottage. “Sound sleepers,” he said, thundering upon the resonant door with the knocker. Nobody stirred within.
“That’s funny,” he said. “Somebody ought to have heard that. I wonder . . .” he turned and looked at Eddie, inquiringly.
“Never can tell, sir,” said Eddie sententiously. “Let’s look around.”
A walk around the house soon showed them that the kitchen window was open.
“Of course,” commented Val, “it’s hardly the approved mode of entering a lady’s home, but . . .”
Eddie was already inside, not waiting to trouble himself with the ethics of the case. A moment later Val followed him.
There was not a sign of life in the rooms. A rapid glance at the beds showed them that they had not been slept in.
Jessica was gone.
