"There is no key here, ma'am. The door is not locked. Shall I open it and come in?"
I was about to say yes in my anxiety to talk to the woman, but remembering that nothing was to be gained by letting it be seen to what an extent I had carried my suspicions, I hastily disrobed and crept into bed. Pulling the coverings about me, I assumed a comfortable attitude and then cried:
"Come in."
The door immediately opened.
"There, ma'am! What did I tell you? Locked?—this door? Why, the key has been lost for months."
"I cannot help it," I protested, but with little if any asperity, for it did not suit me that she should see I was moved by any extraordinary feeling. "A key was put in that lock about midnight, and I was locked in. It was about the time some one screamed in your own part of the house."
"Screamed?" Her brows took a fine pucker of perplexity. "Oh, that must have been Miss Lucetta."
"Lucetta?"
"Yes, ma'am; she had an attack, I believe. Poor Miss Lucetta! She often has attacks like that."
Confounded, for the woman spoke so naturally that only a suspicious nature like mine would fail to have been deceived by it, I raised myself on my elbow and gave her an indignant look.