Unlocking the door at the head of the steps, the two detectives stepped out into the carpeted hall and paused for a moment to listen.
No sound greeted their ears. The house was as dark and silent as a grave. Even the light in the vestibule had been extinguished.
"Where next?" whispered Bendlow.
"The first floor, then upstairs," breathed Peret in his ear.
Guided by frequent flashes from Peret's flashlight, the two detectives explored the parlor, dining-room and kitchen, and found them empty, cold and silent. When they returned to the hall, Peret leaned over and put his lips to his companion's ear.
"Wait at the bottom of the front stairs and watch," was his whispered order. "I'm going up. Warn me if any one enters the house, and if you hear me cry out, turn on the lights and come to my help as rapidly as you can. The Whispering Thing strikes quickly, and, having struck, moves on. Comprendez-vous?"
"Yep," croaked Bendlow, and took up his stand at the place designated.
Flashing his light around the hall once more, so as not to lose his sense of direction, Peret began his slow and cautious ascent to the second floor. Placing his feet carefully on that part of the steps nearest to the wall so they would not creak, he worked his way up to the top of the steps. There he paused to listen.
No one knew better than he how fatal it would prove to be caught prowling around the house of a man as desperate as the Wolf was reputed to be, in the dead of night. There was not only the man himself to be feared; there was the Whispering Thing, for if Dalfonzo was, as he suspected, implicated in the murders he was investigating, it was certain that the invisible assassin, be it man, beast or devil was in league with the renegade Italian.
Yet a search of the man’s house during his absence, or at least without his knowledge, seemed necessary, since Peret not only had no evidence against the Count, but had as yet to learn the exact nature of the Thing; and it would be useless to make an arrest until he could fasten the crimes on their perpetrator.
Having assured himself that no one was stirring, therefore, Peret began to explore the second floor. The house was a small one, and it did not take him long to go through the four rooms that comprised the second floor, especially as two of them were unfurnished. The other two rooms, which contained only the necessary articles of bedroom furniture, bore signs of recent occupation, but Peret was unable to find in them anything of an incriminating or even of an enlightening character.
Rendered moody by his failure to find the evidence he sought, the Frenchman returned to the hall and was about to retrace his steps to the first floor when he felt a pressure on his arm and heard Bendlow's hoarse, low-pitched warning in his ear.
"Something's in the vestibule."
Peret's muscles grew tense.
"Somebody coming in?" he asked quickly.
"Nope," came the reply. "It's something in the vestibule between the two doors. It musta been there all the time we've been here, as the front door hasn't been opened since I've been on guard."
"How do you know something's there?" whispered Peret.
"Heard it moving around, and when I put my ear to the keyhole I heard it breathing," was Bendlow’s startling reply.
Peret's jaws closed with a snap, and his grasp on his automatic tightened.
"Eh, bien," he hissed. "Follow me down stairs. Keep hold of my coat so we won't get separated. If anything approaches you from the rear,
