Quest glanced up from the map.
“None at all. I know, however, that the house in which Lenora here was confined, is being watched closely.”
The Professor glanced towards the table before which Lenora was seated.
“It seems strange,” he continued, “that the young lady should have so little to tell us about her incarceration.”
Lenora shivered for a moment.
“What could there be to tell,” she asked, “except that it was all horrible, and that I felt things—felt dangers—which I couldn’t describe.”
The Professor gave vent to an impatient little exclamation.
“I am not speaking of fancies,” he persisted. “You had food brought to you, for instance. Could you never see the hand which placed it inside your room? Could you hear nothing of the footsteps of the person who brought it? Could you not even surmise whether it was a man or a woman?”
Lenora answered him with an evident effort. She had barely, as yet, recovered from the shock of those awful hours.
“The person who brought me the food,” she said, “came at night—never in the daytime. I never heard anything. The most I ever saw was once—I happened to be looking towards the door and I saw a pair of hands—nothing more—setting down a tray. I shrieked and called out. I think that I almost fainted. When I found courage enough to look, there was nothing there but the tray upon the floor.”