“It’s nothing,” she called, hearing her voice thin and hoarse. “Nothing’s happened. It’s only Anne Tracy.”
The lights leaped out and she saw them, Bassett with his hand on the electric button, stricken still, looking this way and that. His eye found her first, backed against the door, a small green-clad figure with an ashen face.
“What’s this mean?” said Rawson.
“Nothing.” She was afraid the handle would rattle with the shaking of her hand so let it go. “I upset the lamp in the dark. I didn’t see it that’s all.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came down to get my book. I forgot and left it when I went up-stairs.”
She could get her breath now and her voice was under control. She felt strength oozing back into her body and with it courage.
“You’re as white as a sheet,” Williams blurted out.
“Did something frighten you?” demanded Bassett.
“No, but a sort of faintness came over me, there by the table, and I grabbed at it and upset the lamp.”