And ere a moment passed, the Madam entered the room, followed by Barnhurst. She held the light, and he advanced toward the bed.
"It looks rather bad," cried Barnhurst, as he caught sight of the face of Alice.
"Why, where has Corkins gone?" cried the Madam, and turning abruptly she sought for Corkins, and uttered a shriek. At the same instant Barnhurst raised his eyes from the face of Alice, and fell back against the wall, as though a bullet had pierced his temple.
They had at the same instant discovered Dermoyne, who, motionless as stone, stood against the wall, beside the door, his arms folded, and his head sunk on his breast. Thus, with his head drooped on his breast, he raised his eyes and silently surveyed them both, and with the same glance.
Not a word was spoken. The Madam, unable to support herself, sank on the foot of the bed, and Barnhurst, staggered to his feet again, looked around the room with a visage stamped with guilt and terror.
Arthur quietly advanced a step, and closed the door of the room. Then he locked it and put the key in his pocket.
"What do you mean?" cried the Madam the color rushing into her face.
"No noise," whispered Arthur, "unless indeed,"—and he smiled in a way which she understood,—"unless, indeed, you mean to alarm the neighborhood, and bring the police into the room. Would you like to have the police examine your house?"
The Madam bit her red lip, but did not answer. Arthur passed her, and approached the Rev. Herman Barnhurst.
"Nay, don't be afraid; I will not hurt you," he whispered, as the clergyman stretched forth his hands and retreated toward the wall. "Come, take courage, man,—look there!"