“Look around a little,” replied Bat, who had moved toward the door. “I’ll not be gone long. Don’t say a word now, and watch your man.”
Bat softly opened the door and stepped out into the hall. There was nothing definite in his mind; but, vaguely, he felt that there were more experiences to come.
“If one man came out of the vaults, why not more?” he asked himself. “If some one opened the door leading to those same vaults, how do I know that he is not now opening another, leading somewhere else?”
Quietly he slipped down the hall; the lights were only half up, and the recesses were dim; but there was sufficient illumination for him to see that no one was lurking in its length. Further on the corridor took a sharp turn, and it was in this angle that young Campe’s rooms were located.
“Better luck there, maybe,” breathed Bat, as he stole along.
But, when he turned the corner, he found that particular portion of the hall in darkness. Instantly he realized that if any one were in hiding there, he offered a fair mark; stepping quickly back around the angle he turned out the nearest lights, so that he was as much in the dark as the possible prowler. Again he moved forward; but he had not gone more than half-a-dozen steps when he heard a slight sound ahead. He paused and bent forward to listen. The sound continued, creaking, rasping, complaining.
“A door,” thought Bat. “A door with unoiled hinges—it’s being opened.”
His hand went to his hip, and once more the thick automatic was out and ready. The sound stopped; there was a silence for a time; then began a rustling which was unmistakable—the rustle of a woman’s skirt.
“The golden Helen!” was Scanlon’s next thought. “And promptly on the job!”
The rustling stopped; then a whisper came.