“Locked! And Doctor Waring still in there?”
“Yes; I think he must have had a stroke—or, something—”
“Nonsense! He’s just asleep. He’s overworked of late, anyway.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” And Mrs. Peyton looked relieved. “You see about it, Mr. Lockwood, won’t you?”
The secretary went first to the study door. He rapped, and then he tried the door, and then rapped again, very loudly. But no response came, and Lockwood returned to the dining-room.
“Can you see through that glass?” he asked in surprise, noting the thick, leaded mosaic of pieces.
“Yes, sir, through this corner,” Ito directed him, and, peering through, Lockwood discerned the figure of John Waring. He sat at his desk, his body fallen slightly forward, and his head drooped on his breast.
“Sound asleep,” said Lockwood, but his tone carried no conviction.
Mrs. Peyton well knew the man’s disinclination to show any emotion, and in spite of his calm, she was almost certain he shared her own belief that John Waring was not merely asleep.
“We must get to him,” Lockwood said, after a moment’s pause. “Can you get through one of these windows, Ito, and unbolt the door?”