He took it quite casually. "Better let me try it," he said. "It can't be locked from the inside unless she's there."
Janet stood aside, trembling, as he tried the handle. Then he, too, bent down and examined the keyhole.
"Good God! You're right!" he said thickly.
Janet's eyes roamed feverishly from his face to the door. When he stood back and called out Sally's name, her senses sharpened to a quivering point to catch the slightest sound of a reply. She must be inside—she must be inside! Then why didn't she answer? Why? She recalled Sally's face as she had last seen it, white, drawn, the eyes hollow, the lips but faintly tinged with pink. Now it was in that room, the face that she had lifted and kissed before she had said how wonderful she was. But what was it looking like now? What was it looking like now, alone in that awful silence?
Traill strode back into the room.
"What are you going to do?" asked Janet. "Something's got to be done! What are you going to do?"
"Break down the door," was his answer.
He searched in the fireplace. He searched round the room.
"Take that chair! Take that chair!" cried Janet.
He picked it up by its heavy arms, stood back and then charged the door. There was a shuddering noise, a splintering sound of wood giving. Then it was all quiet again.