‘Oh, why are you talking like that?’ Margaret cried. ‘I can’t bear it. You sound—I don’t know—as if something’s broken—in you, I mean.’
‘I felt as if it had,’ said Gladys, ‘when something broke out there. You heard it.’
‘No, no.’ Margaret was desperate. ‘That’s all nonsense. Rouse yourself. We don’t really know what’s happened. It’s only waiting here, in the dark, not knowing anything, that’s wearing us down. If we give in, I don’t know what will happen. We can’t let these things drive us out of our senses, beat us down. That’s what they’re trying to do. We won’t have it, will we? Let’s do something. Bang on the door again.’
‘I did that,’ said Gladys, dully. ‘There’s nobody to let us out.’
‘Oh, don’t say that! It sounds so horrible.’ And Margaret began pounding on the door. Then she stopped herself. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t, though,’ she faltered. She thought of that vague, gibbering figure on the stairs. Suppose he was at the other side of the door, alone, heard them knocking—and opened it. Her hands fell helplessly to her side, and once more she saw life trembling on the edge of a pit, with unreason darkening the sky above it. If Philip didn’t come, it wouldn’t be long before she would be absolutely beaten down and everything would be lost.
Gladys stirred. ‘I thought I heard something then. Yes, there you are. Voices.’
‘I can hear Philip,’ Margaret broke in, jubilantly. ‘I’m sure I can.’ Without thinking now, she rapped on the door. Then she stopped to listen again. ‘Yes, it is Philip. It’s all right now. I’m sure it is.’ She called out and rapped again.
‘Hello!’ Philip was very close now, just at the other side of the door. ‘Is that you, Margaret?’
‘Yes, here we are,’ she called back. ‘Let us out, Philip. Isn’t the key there?’
‘Yes it is. You’re all right, aren’t you?’ His voice sounded queer. ‘Well, wait a few minutes.’