“Jasper,” I called, “where are you?”
“Here!” answered a far-off voice.
The kitchen oilcloth had been torn up and rolled to one side, exposing a trap-door. I leaned over the edge and peered into a pit.
“Are you there, Jasper?”
“Yes.”
“Is Mrs. Dove there?”
“No.”
“Anybody else?”
“No, nobody but me; come on down.”
But on learning that he was safe, my fears leaped to the finding of Mrs. Dove. If it was she who had opened up that trap-door, or if some one had unfastened it from underneath, I was terror-stricken. What had burst forth, and what had happened to her?