A CALL IN THE NIGHT
There was no answer. For a second time Adrian's mind fought a belief that sense had tricked him. Now and then a shout from the bar-room reached him as he waited, listening. The wind whistled eerily through the scant-leaved scrub-oaks on the slopes above.
But from the room at the window of which he listened there came no sound.
Adrian felt like one hoaxed, made ridiculous by his own sentimentality. He strode on. But when he reached the farther corner some involuntary impulse turned him back. And again the sound of muffled sobbing came to him from the open window--fainter now, as though an effort had been made to stifle it.
Once more he spoke: "I say, what's the trouble in there? Can I help?"
Almost instantly a face appeared against the pane--a tear-stained face, terrified and shrinking.
"Oh!" said a voice unsteady with weeping. "Oh! sir, if there is a heart in your breast you will help me to escape--to find my father."
Her tone, despite agitation, was that of extreme youth. She was not of the class that frequent gambling halls. Both her dress and her manner proclaimed that. Adrian was perplexed. "Are you--" he hesitated, fearing to impart offense, "are you the girl who came with McTurpin?"
"Yes, yes," she spoke hurriedly. "He told me my father was ill. He promised to take me to him. Instead, he locked me in this room. He threatened--oh! he is a monster! Will you help me? Do you know my father, sir?"
"What is his name?" asked Stanley.