Wilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall
beside it. No one was moving about the house, nor could we
catch a glimpse of any faces at the windows. Slowly the
twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the high towers of
Holdernesse Hall. Then in the gloom we saw the two side-lamps
of a trap light up in the stable yard of the inn, and shortly
afterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the
road and tore off at a furious pace in the direction of Chesterfield.
"What do you make of that, Watson?" Holmes whispered.
"It looks like a flight."
"A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it
certainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door."
A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the
middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head
advanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he
was expecting someone. Then at last there were steps in the
road, a second figure was visible for an instant against the
light, the door shut, and all was black once more. Five minutes
later a lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor.
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