"But this is murder," Geoffrey cried.
"I dare say some people would call it so," Ralph replied coolly. "As a matter of fact, there never could be homicide more justifiable than to let that woman perish there. Still, we are not going to do anything of the kind. When those cries cease, and you hear yonder wretch fall to the ground, then open the door and drag her out."
The cries were coming wildly from behind the door; there was a hammering on the panels. The cries rang through the house, they reached the Asiatics in the vaults and the latter fled in terror into the night.
Something had happened, but what it was they did not care. They had only themselves to think of.
In spite of his strong nerves, Geoffrey shuddered. It was horrible to be alone in that grim house of tears, waiting in the darkness, opposed by grim horrors and, above all, to have that note of agony ringing in his ears.
Would it never stop? Would the time to act never come? Geoffrey would have interfered in spite of everything but for the fact that Ralph was gripping his shoulder in a grasp that at any other time would have been painful.
Suddenly the noise ceased. There was a moan and the soft, crushing fall of a body. Ralph's face blazed up instantly.
"Now," he cried, "there is no time to be lost."
Geoffrey darted forward. He had the door opened in an instant. Mrs. May lay still and white on the floor. The atmosphere of the room seemed to have vanished. It was intolerable to breathe there; air there was none.
As the door fell back the room filled as with a sudden strong draught. Geoffrey dragged the unconscious figure into the corridor.