“There was a Chinaman who came to the door before six o'clock. He asked for Mr. Warren, and I showed him how to get to the library. He wore a white suit and spoke English pretty good. But I did not like his face; and ever since he came here I have been afraid—”
She paused, her face twitching with emotion, then said:
“As Mr. Warren had not come back to the house, I went to the library just before you came. I knocked and knocked on the door. But no one answered. I had called up on the 'phone, but there was no reply. And when I knocked, or just before I knocked the first time, I thought I heard some one inside. But after I had pounded on the door there was not a sound.”
Suddenly her voice broke and, giving us an appealing look, she asked if we would not go back to the library and break open one of the windows, so we could get within. There was no doubt she was afraid something had happened to Warren. When she finished speaking, there was just one response. It came from Ranville.
“I think we better do as she says, Carter,” was all he said.
At these words the woman ran from the room, returning in a moment with two flashlights, which she gave us. She half started to follow us from the piazza, and then, as if thinking better of her resolution, stopped by the door. As we went down the steps to the ground, our last sight was the housekeeper, standing in the open door with the light from the hall streaming out into the night.
It was now dark. As we retraced our steps, the high hedges on each side of the path caused the walk to appear like a black tunnel. Above our heads we could catch a glimpse of the stars, and could hear the faint rustle of the branches of the trees. For some reason no one spoke, nor for that matter did we hurry.
Climbing the slight hill, we approached the building, which loomed a dark mass before us. On the veranda we paused for a second, and then the darkness was split by the sudden ray from Carter's flashlight. We tried the door again, but it was still locked, and there came no response to our knock. The window was six or seven feet above our heads, and to reach it some one would have to do a little climbing.
As I was the lightest, they proposed to lift me from the floor to the ledge of the window. If I found it was locked, I was to break the glass, lift the window, and climb into the room. Ranville gave me his hand, and I reached the sill. Balancing myself on the narrow ledge, I tried to peer into the room, but it was a dense black shadow of gloom. Nothing could be distinguished, and though I waited a second, the only sound to come to my ears was the wind in the branches of the near-by trees.
Trying the window, I found it locked. Then Carter reached up to me the second flashlight, and without turning it on I broke the glass with the heavy end. The glass fell with a tinkling sound to the floor, and slipping my hand through the hole, I turned the catch and lifted the window. As I did this, I dropped the flashlight, which fell with a thud within the room. Hesitating a second, I dropped into the library and fumbled on the floor for the flashlight.