WHAT SINCLAIR HAD TO SHOW ME
This scream seemed to come from the room where we had just heard voices. With a common impulse, Sinclair and I both started down the hall, only to find ourselves met by a dozen wild interrogations from behind as many quickly opened doors. Was it fire? Had burglars got in? What was the matter? Who had uttered that dreadful shriek? Alas! that was the question which we of all men were most anxious to hear answered. Who? Gilbertine or Dorothy?
Gilbertine's door was reached first. In it stood a short, slight figure, wrapped in a hastily-donned shawl. The white face looked into ours as we stopped, and we recognized little Miss Lane.
"What has happened?" she gasped. "It must have been an awful cry to waken everybody so!"
We never thought of answering her.
"Where is Gilbertine?" demanded Sinclair, thrusting his hand out as if to put her aside.
She drew herself up with sudden dignity.
"In bed," she replied. "It was she who told me that somebody had shrieked. I didn't wake."
Sinclair uttered a sigh of the greatest relief that ever burst from a man's overcharged breast.
"Tell her we will find out what it means," he replied kindly, drawing me rapidly away.