Paul Quentin by Fred M. White — Read

Dugdale had an uncanny sense that he had been waiting for this incident. This was, of course, a mere figment of imagination, but his nerves were strung up and a haunting suspicion of impending evil was upon him. He had no fear in his heart, but only a peculiar assurance that he had not yet finished his night's adventures. Therefore, sound of smashing glass came to him as a relief. At the same time, he was annoyed, for the household had gone to rest, and it seemed a pity they should be disturbed.

Still, it was foolish to remain debating as to what had taken place. The sound of smashing glass was followed by a tense silence all the more impressive for its very suddenness. Dugdale crept into the hall hardly knowing which way to turn. With his limited knowledge of the house it was impossible to locate the quarter from whence the sound came. He would have to find that out for himself. Still the amount of glass destroyed had been considerable; indeed, such a noise could not have been caused by the mere breaking of a window. Dugdale remembered that there were a good many greenhouses and conservatories about the house, and no doubt the accident had occurred in one of these. Possibly there might be other marauders about besides the spurious Doctor Prince. Indeed, it was on the cards that the madman might have had an accomplice who was now trying to find out what had become of him.