“Oh, Ethel, it can’t be! Somebody must be playing a joke on us!”
“Nobody would do that,” replied the older girl. “It’s too serious a matter!”
“But what shall we do?” Marjorie was dangerously near to tears.
“Oh, we won’t do anything till it’s light,” said Ethel. “Then we’ll go home.”
“But what can it be?”
“I think it must be a rat gnawing something, or a cat—or even a bat. There, how’s that for a rhyme!”
Marjorie laughed a little, and felt better for the joke. Then Ethel crawled over into the cot beside her, and, with their arms entwined about each other, they tried to go to sleep. But though the rapping continued at less frequent intervals, it was still audible, and neither girl was able to forget it.
For half an hour they lay very still, watching the light grow more distinct, and rejoicing secretly at the approach of day. When it was bright enough for Ethel to see her watch, they resolved to get up. They had not heard a knock for the space of five minutes or so, and were beginning to make light of their fears when three sounded in succession.
“Oh!” whispered Marjorie, who was now at the top of the stairs, “I do believe it comes from the cellar!”
“Yes, so do I!” agreed Ethel. “Got the revolver?”