Now, therefore, it was not surprising that Mrs. Hawkes should ask herself whether Jack Rotherfield, who had already the guilt of one outrage at his door, might not have committed another. If Rhoda Pembury had been murdered because she stood between Lady Sarah and her husband’s rival, who but that rival could have been guilty of the act?
So thought Mrs. Hawkes as she hurried along the corridor to the door of Rhoda’s room.
Bursting it open without knocking, so sure was she that the sounds she had heard proceeded from this room, the housekeeper found herself in darkness. The electric light had not been turned on. The window was open, the curtains were drawn back, and a little light came from the moon, not long risen.
For a moment Mrs. Hawkes saw nothing. Then, her eyes becoming accustomed to the gloom, she perceived that there was something on the floor close by the window, something that did not move, did not utter a sound.
She moved forward quickly, and knelt down on the floor. Then a shudder went through her, and she sat back with a low cry.
Once more bending down, she raised the inert mass from the floor, turned the limp head, stared down into the ghastly face.
For a moment sight and sense seemed to fail her, and then she was roused by sounds of voices and footsteps outside the door.
Scrambling quickly to her feet, the housekeeper hurried across the floor, just as a loud knock sounded on the door of the room.
She heard the rattling of the handle and quickly turned the key in the lock at the sound of master’s voice.
“Mrs. Hawkes, can I speak to you? Can you come out?”