"You saw her?"
"Yes, mon Jeem."
"But she must have heard all this commotion."
"I doan know."
"Um." He paused a moment, glanced at the door into the corridor, and then crossed quickly to the door Piquette indicated, knocking softly. There was no reply.
"Moira!" he said through the key-hole. "It's I—Jim."
He seemed to hear sounds within, a gasp, a movement of feet and then silence.
"Moira—it's Jim." There was no sound, so he unbolted the door and turned the knob. It was locked on the inside.
A gasp from Piquette, who had been listening for sounds at the other door, now warned him to be quiet and he straightened. There were footsteps outside and then a knock.
"Tricot!" said the Irishman's voice. "Let me in."