"You are mistaken," I replied, after listening vainly for some sound to proceed from within that might disprove his words. "Some one entered here only a minute or two ago, unknown, it may be, to you. These footprints are not mine."
But on looking downwards I found that a snow-wreath had drifted over the pavement, effectually covering the footsteps of myself as well as those of the refugee.
The old man smiled at my perplexity--a smile that was annoying, for it implied that he regarded me as a sad wine-bibber.
"Captain George Willard, of the--the----"
And then I stopped. I could perhaps have given him the titles of Cæsar's ancient legions, but of the name of my brother's modern regiment I was totally ignorant.
"I really don't know the name of the regiment." The old man smiled again, as well he might. "He's in India now--that is to say, he is when he's there, you know," I stammered, conscious that I was blundering terribly.
"Captain Willard? I have never heard the name before. He is not here. You have mistaken the house."
"Would you allow me to search the place?" I asked. "It is a bold request for a stranger to make, especially at this unearthly hour, and nothing but the certainty that my brother has concealed himself within induces me to make it. You see, he's a madman, and might do you harm." I thought this last would move him, but it only made matters worse. "I am certain I saw him enter this house. I am willing to pay you for your trouble if--if----"
I paused diffidently, for his reverend air did not harmonise well with the taking of a bribe. The old man's voice now assumed a tone of asperity. He was evidently getting tired of shivering half-dressed in the cold night air, and no wonder.
"I shall certainly _not_ allow you to search the house. Your brother is not here. This door was double-locked when I went to bed. You heard me unlock it. How could he enter without the key. I must bid you good-night, for I see it's no use arguing with you in your present state of mind."
And, without more ado, the door was closed and locked, and I could hear the footsteps of the old man receding along the passage and ascending the stairs.
Completely mystified, I stood motionless for a few moments. I was certain that my brother _had_ entered the house. Perhaps, despite the old man's assertion as to the door having been closed and locked, he had really left it ajar, and George, perceiving this, had, in a fit of desperation, seized the occasion to enter and hide, resolving to remain there till I had taken my departure. He might even now be stealing a look from one of the windows to see whether the coast were clear.