She peeped into the bar and found it empty. Together they entered the
narrow passage. The unmistakable odour of beer and stale tobacco was
all-prevalent. The air was heavy with it. They reached the foot of the
steep winding stairs, and Olga paused irresolutely.

"There doesn't seem to be anyone downstairs. Will you wait while I run
up?"

"No," said Nick. "I'm coming too."

They ascended therefore, and commenced to search the upper regions. But
the same absolute quiet reigned above as below. Only the loud ticking of
a cuckoo-clock at the head of the stairs aggravated the stillness.

Olga opened one or two doors along the passage and looked into empty
rooms, and finally turned round to Nick with scared eyes.

"What can have happened? Where can she be gone?"

As she uttered the words, there fell a heavy footstep in the sanded
passage below, and the sound of a man's cough came up to them.

Nick wheeled. "Hi, Briggs! Is that you?"

"Briggs it is," said a thick voice.

Nick descended the stairs with Olga behind him, and encountered the
owner thereof at the bottom. He was a large-limbed man with a permanent
slouch and a red and sullen countenance that very faithfully bore