Ranjoor Singh strode across the street in a bee-line and entered the
dark passage. He had seen the yellow light of a lamp-flame through a
chink in an upper shutter, and he intended to try directness on the
problem once again. It was ten full paces down the passage to the
door; he counted them, finishing the last one with a kick against the
panel that would have driven it in had it been less than teak.
There came no answer, so he kicked again. Then he beat on the door
with his clenched fists. Presently he turned his back to the door and
kept up a steady thunder on it with his heels. And then, after about
five minutes, he heard movement within.
He congratulated himself then that the noise he had made had called
the attention of passers-by and of all the neighbors, and though he
had had no fear and no other intention than to enter the house at all
costs, he certainly had that much less compunction now.
He heard three different bolts drawn back, and then there was a
pause. He thought he heard whispering, so he resumed his thunder.
Almost at once there followed the unmistakable squeak of a big beam
turning on its pivot, and the door opened about an inch.
He pushed, but some one inside pushed harder, and the door closed
again. So Ranjoor Singh leaned all his weight and strength against
the door, drawing in his breath and shoving with all his might.
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