Even as she looked, the man turned toward her a white and startled face,—it seemed almost as if he welcomed her appearance.
“Blake! What is it?” she said, alarmed at his manner. “What are you doing?”
“I—heard a strange sound, Madame,—from the studio——”
“A strange sound?” and Beatrice came along the hall toward the footman.
“And the lights in there, just went out——”
“The lights went out! What do you mean, Blake? It is not your business if lights in rooms are turned off or on, is it?”
“No, Madame—but—there, Madame! Did you not hear that?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” and Beatrice paled, as an indistinct voice seemed to cry faintly, “Help!” It was a horrible, gurgling sound, as of one in dire extremity. “What can it be? Go in, Blake, at once! Turn on the lights!”
“Yes, Madame,” and the trembling footman pushed open the door and felt fumblingly in the dark for the electric switch.
It was only a few seconds, but it seemed an interminable time before the lights flashed on and the great room was illuminated to its furthest corners.