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to know. For, much as if the Professor’s words had been a cue-line in some old-fashioned melodrama, they had been instantly followed by a sudden deluge of darkness. The library remained, indeed, faintly lit by the dying fire. But throughout the room, as also in the corridor beyond the open door where Leonidas still stood, every light had been simultaneously extinguished. All Ledward Park was again as Appleby had first encountered it: a mere realm of Chaos and Old Night. Of Chaos in particular. For upon the inky gloom there immediately succeeded what might have been a nicely calculated crescendo of alarming, even of spine-chilling, sounds. First there was an angry shout, then pounding feet, a crash of splintering glass, a woman’s high-pitched scream, the shattering reverberation of a firearm discharged in a confined space. And then silence was entire again.

 
     
Part Two
    THE SMALL HOURS
     

 
     
7
     
    It could at least be said of Leonidas that, in this emergency, he had his wits about him. He had stepped swiftly across the library, and within seconds lit the candles in a three-branched candlestick.
    ‘On this side of the house, that was,’ he said. ‘The drawing-room, it might have come from. I suppose, sir’ – he had turned to Professor Snodgrass – ‘you wouldn’t have that old revolver of yours handy in this room?’
    ‘Of course not, Leonidas. But there are four of us, and we must tackle whatever mischief is afoot. William, you agree with me?’
    ‘Most certainly – and I can see that Sir John does. The question would appear to be whether we scatter, or go forward in a body. I am inclined to think that we may be bodies, if we advance together along that very awkward quadrant corridor. For I suppose that robbery with violence is what confronts us.’
    ‘That seems probable enough.’ Appleby had taken the candelabrum from Leonidas, and was walking towards the door. ‘But, if so, the robbery is likely to be over, and the robbers to be departing rather rapidly now. I propose returning to the hall. Leonidas, if I call to you from there, you are to come out and make your way to the switchboard, wherever that may be. It is probable that somebody has merely thrown out the main switch. Get it in again. Or, if fuses have been tampered with, do what you can. Professor Snodgrass, I would ask you and the vicar to remain here for the moment.’ Appleby was making no bones about taking charge in the emergency. It was his sort of thing, after all. ‘But I think I noticed a telephone in this room. If so, be so kind as to call the police at once. Tell them there has been shooting. It will get them out of bed. Right? Now I’ll take a look around.’
    He walked rapidly down the corridor. It wasn’t a place in which to loiter. But almost immediately he heard footsteps behind him – footsteps and a muted tap-tap which he knew to be produced by Professor Snodgrass’ rubber-tipped stick.
    ‘I would really rather you remained in the library,’ he said, without looking round. ‘Situations like this are quite familiar to me, you know.’
    ‘I think it probable that I have been under fire quite as often as you have.’ There was a surprising snap in Snodgrass’ voice, so that momentarily he sounded a much younger man. ‘And I have to know what has happened to Adrian.’
    ‘Very well.’ Appleby was looking fixedly ahead of him. It was still into nothing but absolute darkness. He remembered that the corridor gave not directly on the imposing colonnaded hall, but on a room of moderate size which came in between. And here it was, floating glimmeringly into view through an open door. He hadn’t paused on first passing through it, and he didn’t pause now. Only he saw from its glimpsed furnishings that it would probably be known as the music room. Facing the music , he told himself, and in half-a-dozen further strides was in the hall. The Professor was now shoulder to shoulder with him – which was remarkably good