Ferrall, in dressing-gown and slippers, stepped into the corridor; below, the chains were rattling as the wicket swung open.

There was a brief parley at the door, sounds of retreating steps on the gravel outside, sounds of approaching steps on the stairway.
"What's that?
A telegram ?" said Ferrall sharply.

"Here, give it to me.

...
Wait! It isn't for me.

It's for Mr Siward!" Siward, standing at his open door, swayed slightly.