Читать книгу Special Detective (Ashton-Kirk) онлайн

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“I think I’m for bed,” said he.

Scanlon looked his astonishment, but said nothing. His imagination had pictured some hours of looking about among the darkened hills—just how and what for he had little idea; and this announcement suddenly bringing the night to a close was not in the least what he had expected.

“All right,” was his reply. “That’ll do for me, too.”

Rooms were assigned them, and each was provided with a candle in a copper candlestick; and so they went off up the wide staircase. From the adjoining room, Bat Scanlon heard the sound of pacing feet for some time; after a little they stopped, but for all that he had no assurance that the special detective had gone to bed. So he stepped out and knocked at his door.

Entering, he found Ashton-Kirk, his hands deep in his trousers pockets, standing staring at the grotesque flare of the candle.

“Hello,” said the big man, “I thought you were regularly sleepy.”

“I am—a little. But an idea occurred to me downstairs, and I’ve been trying to follow it out.”