In the act of running down the stairs in pursuit, he paused.
Once again, he had nearly made a fool of himself!
This was a trap, perhaps, to lure him out of the house!
But what the other man didn't realize was that he had made a mistake, had delivered himself neatly into Blore's hands.
For, of the three tenanted rooms upstairs, one must now be empty.
All that had to be done was to ascertain which!
Blore went swiftly back along the corridor.
He paused first at Dr. Armstrong's door and tapped.
There was no answer.
He waited a minute, then went on to Philip Lombard's room.
Here the answer came at once.
"Who's there?"
"It's Blore.
I don't think Armstrong is in his room.
Wait a minute."
He went on to the door at the end of the corridor.
Here he tapped again.
"Miss Claythorne.
Miss Claythorne."
Vera's voice, startled, answered him: "Who is it? What's the matter?"
"It's all right, Miss Claythorne.
Wait a minute.
I'll come back."
He raced back to Lombard's room.
The door opened as he did so.
Lombard stood there.
He held a candle in his left hand.
He had pulled on his trousers over his pyjamas.
His right hand rested in the pocket of his pyjama jacket.
He said sharply: "What the hell's all this?"
Blore explained rapidly.
Lombard's eyes lit up.
"Armstrong - eh?
So he's our pigeon!"
He moved along to Armstrong's door.
"Sorry, Blore, but I don't take anything on trust."
He rapped sharply on the panel.
"Armstrong - Armstrong."
There was no answer.
Lombard dropped to his knees and peered through the key-hole.
He inserted his little finger gingerly into the lock.
He said: "Key's not in the door on the inside."
Blore said: "That means he locked it on the outside and took it with him."
Philip nodded: "Ordinary precaution to take.
We'll get him, Blore... This time, we'll get him!
Half a second."
He raced along to Vera's room.
"Vera."
"Yes."
"We're hunting Armstrong.