“I wish I knew. No, I don’t. Let’s don’t talk about it now.”
“The subject isn’t very heartening in the present circumstances,” agreed Terry in queer little gulps.
They tiptoed down to the next floor. Every now and then they halted, trembling, waiting for some door to open and lead to their discovery. But the other students must, indeed have been sleeping the sleep of the just, for Arden and Terry eventually reached the lower entrance hall without mishap.
The ground glass of the heavy front doors showed a little lighter than the surrounding wooden frames. Arden was there, fumbling with the old-fashioned key. Terry was watching apprehensively.
Suddenly two dark figures were outlined on the glass of the door. One was that of Sim!
“I’ll have it open in a moment, Sim!” Arden panted, working desperately with the key. “It’s turning now!”
“And none too soon!” whispered Terry. “Oh, I’m so frightened!”
The lock clicked. Arden turned the knob and pulled the heavy door inward, just far enough to admit Sim, who slithered in with the speed of a wind-blown leaf. Thrusting her gloved hand out through the opening crack she had slid through, while Arden braced herself to prevent the portal from swinging too far back, Sim waved to someone unseen and hoarsely whispered:
“Good-night, Mr. Newman! I’m all right now. Thank you a thousand times! I’ll write to Mrs. Newman. Good-bye!”
With all Arden’s care she could not hold the heavy door firmly enough to prevent a deep though not loud banging sound as it closed.