“Like a footstep at first; and then like something falling—and rustling. Oh, what is the matter?”
Mrs. Coffin was glancing back down the hall with a strange expression on her face. Her grip upon the broom handle tightened.
“What IS it?” pleaded the girl in an agonized whisper.
“Grace,” was the low reply, “I've just remembered somethin'. That study door isn't stuck from the damp, because—well, because I remember now that it was open this mornin'.”
Before her companion could fully grasp the import of this paralyzing fact, Keziah strode down the hall and seized the knob of the study door.
“Whoever you are in there,” she commanded sternly, “open this door and come out this minute. Do you hear? I'm orderin' you to come out.”
There was an instant of silence; then a voice from within made answer, a man's voice, and its tone indicated embarrassment.
“Madam,” it said, “I—I am—I will be out in another minute. If you will just be patient—”
Grace interrupted with a smothered shriek. Keziah brandished the broom.
“Patient!” she repeated sharply. “Well, I like that! What do you mean by—Open that door! Grace, run out and get the—the constable.”