"Half a mo'," said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door. "He's a leary cove that wants watching. I suppose he's not listening?"
"How can he be listening with that music going?"
"That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a curtain. Too many curtains in this room." As he looked round he suddenly saw for the first time the effigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed for words.
"Tut! it's only a dummy," said the Count.
"A fake, is it? Well, strike me! Madame Tussaud ain't in it. It's the living spit of him, gown and all. But them curtains, Count!"
"Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is none too much. He can lag us over this stone."
"The deuce he can!"
"But he'll let us slip if we only tell him where the swag is."
"What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thousand quid?"
"It's one or the other."
Merton scratched his short-cropped pate.
"He's alone in there. Let's do him in. If his light were out we should have nothing to fear."
The Count shook his head.
"He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in a place like this. Besides, it's likely enough that the police know whatever evidence he has got. Hallo! What was that?"
There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both men sprang round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty.