Recovering myself, I passed a hand over it. Yes, undoubtedly it was
a table-leg and the table lay topsy-turvy. But how came it so?
Who had upset it, and why? I took another step, sideways, and my
boot struck against something light, and, by its sound, hollow and
metallic. Stooping very cautiously--for by this time I had taken
alarm and was holding my breath--I passed a hand lightly over the
floor. My fingers encountered the object I had kicked aside.
It was a tinder-box. I clutched it softly, and as softly drew myself
upright again. Could I dare to strike a light? The overturned
table: What could be the meaning of it? It could not have been
overturned by Captain Coffin? By whom then? Some one must have
visited the lodgings in his absence.
Some one, for aught I knew, was in the room at this moment!--
Some one, back there against the wall, waiting only for me to strike
a light! I declare that at the thought I came near to screaming
aloud, casting the tinder-box from me and rushing out blindly into
the court.
I dare say that I stood for a couple of minutes, motionless,
listening not with my ears only but with every hair of my head.
Nevertheless, my wits must have been working somehow; for my first
action, when I plucked up nerve enough for it, was an entirely
sensible one.
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