They crept like ghosts along the corridor until they reached a room with double doors at the end of the picture gallery. Generations ago this room had been built for a Ravenspur who had developed dangerous homicidal mania, and in this room he had lived virtually a prisoner for many years.
After they had closed the two doors, a heavy curtain was drawn over the inner one, and Ralph fumbled his way to the table and lighted a candle.
"Now we can talk," he said quietly, "but not loud. Understand that the matter is to be a profound secret between us and that not a soul is to know of it; not even Vera."
"I have already given my promise," said Geoffrey.
"I know. Still there is no harm in again impressing the fact on your mind. Geoffrey, you are about to see strange things, things that will test your pluck and courage to the uttermost."
Geoffrey nodded. With the eagerness of youth he was ready.
"I will do anything you ask me," he replied. "I could face any danger to get at the bottom of this business."
"You are a good lad. Turn the lamp down very low and then open the window. Have you done that?"
"Yes, I can feel the cold air on my face."
Ralph crossed to the window and, putting out his hand, gave the quaint mournful call of the owl. There was a minute's pause and then came the answering signal. A minute or two later and a man's head and shoulders were framed in the open window. Geoffrey would have dashed forward, but Ralph held him back.