The Locked House

Cautiously he prowled along the rear under the kitchen windows, turned
the corner, and went to the front porch.

He had made no mistake; a glimmer was visible between the edge of the
lowered shade and the window casing.

Was it some impudent tramp who had preëmpted this lonely house for a
night's lodging? Was it, possibly, a neighbour who had taken charge in
return for a garden to cultivate and a place to sleep in? Yet, how
could it be the latter when he himself had the keys to the house?
Moreover, such an arrangement could scarcely have been made by Rue
Carew without his being told of it.

Then he remembered what the Princess Mistchenka had said in her cable
message, that somebody might break into the house and steal the
olive-wood box unless he hastened to Brookhollow and secured it
immediately.

Was this what was being done now? Had somebody broken in for that
purpose? And who might it be?

A slight chill, not entirely agreeable, passed over Neeland. A rather
warm sensation of irritation succeeded it; he mounted the steps,
crossed the verandah, went to the door and tried the knob very
cautiously. The door was locked; whoever might be inside either
possessed a key that fitted or else must have entered by forcing a
window.

But Neeland had neither time nor inclination to prowl around and
investigate; he had a duty to fulfil, a train to catch, and a steamer
to connect with the next morning. Besides, he was getting madder every
second.