The Detective laid his ear flat against the key-hole. His face hardened as he waited. He lifted his head and pointed with a steady finger. “Listen!” he commanded. “There—listen. That’s no magpie!”
A low whine like the howl of a wild thing rose to a reed note of moribund terror. It died; then resumed its shrieking. It leaped the octaves from no note to a blare of a soul in agony. Suddenly it struck down the tone scale with descending steps of mocking laughter.
“Look out!” shouted Drew, bending his knees and gliding back to the wall of the hallway. “Look out!” he repeated.
“What are you goin’ to do?” asked Delaney huskily.
“Do? I’m going to break the door down! Look out!”
The detective braced himself against the wall. He lunged forward and crashed against the dark panel near the lock and bolt, with the energy of a college fullback. He backed away and repeated the smashing blow.
“Hold on, Chief,” Delaney said. “That’s no use. The door is two inches thick. I had a good look at it. Wait!”
Drew rubbed his right shoulder as Delaney turned toward the white-faced butler.
“You get an ax!” he ordered. “Beat it, and get a big ax, quick!”
“The axes are in the furnace room, sir.”