Then, gathering presence of mind, he hurriedly responded to the enquiries being made, and in a few minutes the passage was once more clear.
The major returned then, and his eyes looked searchingly into his brother’s.
“This way,” said Sir John. “Her maid and Miss Emlin are with her. We can do nothing there.”
Major Day made an impatient gesture, but his old discipline prevailed, and he followed his brother to the studio door, which opened upon the corridor.
But it, too, was fastened, and Sir John stepped back to the bedroom door and tapped sharply.
There was a rustling sound within, and the door was held ajar by Mason, whose face looked scared and drawn, while a low, piteous moan came to their ears.
“Quick!” said Sir John. “Go round and open the other door. Shut this first, and admit no one, I say, but the doctor.”
The door was closed with a chain, and they heard the slipping back of the bolts of the little studio, Sir John waiting to give the maid time to go back into the bed-chamber before he opened the door, and entered with his brother.
All was in its customary state here, but the conservatory door was open, and, upon entering there, it was to find that the window was wide, and a long strand of the wistaria lay upon the floor, as if it had been torn off by someone who had mounted from below, or else had become entangled by the climber’s dress, and fallen from it when the inside of the window was reached.
The major was at his brother’s side, and together they looked out, holding a candle down to see plainly enough that the leaves and tender twigs of the beautiful climber that wreathed the place had been broken and torn down in several places, the big cable-like twisted main stem having evidently been utilised as a rope ladder by whoever had climbed up.