It was to Paris that Basil had gone, and by the midnight train, as he had intended. With his curious reserved habits, it would be months before any suspicions would be roused. Months! Everything could be destroyed long before then.
A sudden thought struck him. He put on his fur coat and hat and went out into the hall.
There he paused, hearing the slow heavy tread of the policeman on the pavement outside and seeing the flash of the bull’s-eye reflected in the window. He waited and held his breath.
After a few moments he drew back the latch and slipped out, shutting the door very gently behind him.
Then he began ringing the bell. In about five minutes his valet appeared, half-dressed and looking very drowsy.
“I am sorry to have had to wake you up, Francis,” he said, stepping in; “but I had forgotten my latchkey. What time is it?”
“Ten minutes past two, sir,” answered the man, looking at the clock and blinking.
“Ten minutes past two? How horribly late! You must wake me at nine tomorrow. I have some work to do.”
“All right, sir.”
“Did anyone call this evening?”
“ Mr. Hallward, sir. He stayed here till eleven, and then he went away to catch his train.”
“Oh! I am sorry I didn’t see him. Did he leave any message?”