It was Meggie who spoke. The noise had awakened her and she sat up, her hair a little wilder than usual and her eyes wide with astonishment.
Abbershaw started to his feet.
‘We’ll darned soon find out,’ he said, and went over to the second door and knocked upon it softly.
‘Who’s there?’ he whispered.
‘The wicked shall perish,’ said a loud, shrill, feminine voice, in which the broad Suffolk accent was very apparent. ‘The earth shall open and they shall be swallowed up. And you won’t come into this room,’ it continued brightly. ‘No, not if you spend a hundred years a-tapping. And why won’t you come in? ’Cause I’ve bolted the door.’
There was demoniacal satisfaction in the last words, and Abbershaw and Meggie exchanged glances.
‘It’s a lunatic,’ whispered Abbershaw.
Meggie shuddered.
‘What a horrible house this is,’ she said. ‘But talk to her, George. She may know how to get us out.’
‘Her chief concern seems to be not to let us in,’ said Abbershaw, but he returned to the door and spoke again.