The Green Bungalow by Fred M. White

Nettie almost repented what she had done before she had knocked on Lady Fishbourne's door. It seemed to her to be somewhat cowardly to make all this fuss and after all probably about nothing. Possibly she had been altogether mistaken and had not seen Shute after all. She had been quite sure of it at the moment but now in cold blood at that chilly hour in the early morning she was by no means certain. Besides, there had been a a burglary here lately and perhaps the police were secretly watching the house.

Once again she knocked, but this time more timidly, but no kind of response came. Then suddenly changing her mind, and ashamed of her want of courage, she retraced her footsteps by the light of the single electric bulb she had switched on to show her the dim way along the corridor crowded as it was by the quaint old furniture and other ancient art treasures. She did not see Fishbourne's door open and her host in his silk pyjamas watching her discreetly as she turned back towards her own bedroom. Perhaps she was looking for something, he imagined, and had probably found it, so he refrained from saying anything and went back to his bed, turning out the lights he had blazed on when the knocking had disturbed him and thinking no more about the matter. There was nothing to worry about.