“Answer me in a whisper,” I said, with my mouth close to Mrs. Bailey’s ear. “The room in which the murder was committed is on a level with this?”
“Yes,” she replied, in a whisper, as I had directed.
“Do you think the sounds are in that room?”
“I am sure of it, Becky.”
I lay still for about the space of a another minute. Then I rose from the bed.
“What are you going to do, Becky?” asked Mrs. Bailey; “Don’t leave me!”
“I must,” I said, firmly. “For about five minutes. I will come back. I promise you faithfully I will come back. Are you afraid to be left alone?”
“Somebody—or something—might come into the room while you are away,” said the old lady, shuddering. “If you must go, lock me in, and take the key with you. But don’t be longer than five minutes, if you have a spark of pity for a poor, deserted old woman!”
I acted upon her suggestion. I locked her in and went—— Where? Upstairs or down? Up, to Richard Manx’s room.