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Chapter III. The Night Of The Tragedy
Johnopenedthedoorofhisroom.Itwaspitchdark,butLawrencewasfollowingwiththecandle,andbyitsfeeblelightwesawthatthebedhadnotbeensleptin,andthattherewasnosignoftheroomhavingbeenoccupied.
Wewentstraighttotheconnectingdoor.That,too,waslockedorboltedontheinside.Whatwastobedone?
“Oh,dear,sir,”criedDorcas,wringingherhands,“whatevershallwedo?”
“Wemusttryandbreakthedoorin,Isuppose.It’llbeatoughjob,though.Here,letoneofthemaidsgodownandwakeBailyandtellhimtogoforDr.Wilkinsatonce.Nowthen,we’llhaveatryatthedoor.Halfamoment,though,isn’tthereadoorintoMissCynthia’srooms?”
“Yes,sir,butthat’salwaysbolted.It’sneverbeenundone.”
“Well,wemightjustsee.”
HeranrapidlydownthecorridortoCynthia’sroom.MaryCavendishwasthere,shakingthegirl—whomusthavebeenanunusuallysoundsleeper—andtryingtowakeher.
Inamomentortwohewasback.
“Nogood.That’sboltedtoo.Wemustbreakinthedoor.Ithinkthisoneisashadelesssolidthantheoneinthepassage.”
Westrainedandheavedtogether.Theframeworkofthedoorwassolid,andforalongtimeitresistedourefforts,butatlastwefeltitgivebeneathourweight,andfinally,witharesoundingcrash,itwasburstopen.
Westumbledintogether,Lawrencestillholdinghiscandle.Mrs.Inglethorpwaslyingonthebed,herwholeformagitatedbyviolentconvulsions,inoneofwhichshemusthaveoverturnedthetablebesideher.
