“Light us upstairs at once, Thalassa,” said Mrs. Pendleton sharply.
“Mrs. Pendleton, will you wait downstairs while we investigate?” suggested Dr. Ravenshaw.
“No,” she resolutely answered. “I will come with you, doctor. Robert may need me. Do not let us waste any more time.”
She slipped past him to Thalassa, who was mounting the stairs. Dr. Ravenshaw hurried after her. Mr. Pendleton, with an obvious call on his courage, followed last. The lamp in Thalassa’s hand burnt unsteadily, first flaming angrily, then flickering to a glimmer which brought them to a pause, one above the other on the stairs, listening intently, and looking into the darkness above.
“His bedroom is open and empty,” said Thalassa when they had reached the end of the passage above. “See!” He pointed to the gaping door, and then turned to the closed one opposite. “He’s in here.” His voice sank to a whisper. “It was from here the noise came.”
He placed the lamp on the floor, and knocked hesitatingly on the dark panel of the closed door, then again more loudly, but there was no reply. Far beneath them they could hear the solemn roar of the sea dashing against the cliffs, but there was no sound in the closed chamber. Its stillness and hush seemed intensified by the clamour of the sea, as though calamity were brooding in the darkness within.
“Robert, Robert!” The high pitch of Mrs. Pendleton’s voice shattered the quietude like the startling clang of an unexpected bell. “Knock again, Thalassa, more loudly, very loudly,” she cried, in the shrill accents of tightened nerves.
Thalassa approached the door again, but recoiled swiftly. “God A’mighty!” he hoarsely exclaimed, pointing, “what’s that?”
They followed the direction of his finger to the floor, and saw a sluggish thin dark trickle making its way underneath the door. Mr. Pendleton stooped and examined it, but rose immediately.
“There’s been trouble in there,” he said, with a pale face.