Chapter 23
IT WAS no more than the sighing creak of a bare board on the landing. But his ear, unconsciously listening against the oppressive hush of the place, instantly picked up the sound. He did not deceive himself. This was no spontaneous yielding of the woodwork: it was the crepitation of a footfall, deliberately muted, on the uncarpeted floor of the landing. There was someone in the house, someone who had halted on the other side of the door.
Realisation came to him in a flash. He was trapped, with the breadth of the room between him and the light switch, if indeed the light had not already betrayed him. Almost before he had time, however, to grasp his plight, noiselessly and swiftly the door was flung wide— he thought he had never seen a door so quickly and so quietly open. He tri
