Along the hallway they rushed to the closed door at the end—the door of the room in which the three listened breathlessly—hurling themselves against it in violent effort to gain admission.
“Who are you and what do you want?” cried Bridge.
“Let us in! Let us in!” screamed two voices. “Fer God's sake let us in. Can't you hear IT? It'll be comin' up here in a minute.”
The sound of the dragging chain could be heard at intervals upon the floor below. It seemed to the tense listeners above to pause beside the dead man as though hovering in gloating exultation above its gruesome prey and then it moved again, this time toward the stairway where they all heard it ascending with a creepy slowness which wrought more terribly upon tense nerves than would a sudden rush.
“The mills of the Gods grind slowly,” quoted Bridge.
“Oh, don't!” pleaded The Oskaloosa Kid.
“Let us in,” screamed the men without. “Fer the luv o' Mike have a heart! Don't leave us out here! IT's comin'! IT's comin'!”
“Oh, let the poor things in,” pleaded the girl on the bed. She was, herself, trembling with terror.
“No funny business, now, if I let you in,” commanded Bridge.
“On the square,” came the quick and earnest reply.