“Then that's a lie, for she wouldn't tell you. Let me in.”
“I tell you, she's gone out,” said Wilfred, whose only spark of remaining courage was due to the fact that he had prudently kept the door on the chain. “And Mater said you weren't to come in here.”
From the area below a shrill voice floated upwards.
“Mr. Bob! Mr. Bob! Daon't you believe 'im. They got Miss 'Cilia locked up in 'er room.”
“By Jove!” said Bob between his teeth. “Bless you, Eliza! Open that door, Wilfred, or I'll make it hot for you.” He thrust a foot into the opening, with a face so threatening that Wilfred shrank back.
“I shan't,” he said. “You're not going to get her.”
“Am I not?” said Bob. He leaned back, and then suddenly flung all his weight against the door. The chain was old and the links eaten with rust—it snapped like a carrot, and the door flew open. Bob brushed Wilfred out of his way, and went upstairs, three at a time.
Avice blocked his path.
“You aren't coming up.”
“Oh, yes, I think so,” Bob said. He stooped, with a quick movement, and picked her up, holding her across his shoulder, while she beat and clawed unavailingly at his back. So holding her, he thrust back the bolt of Cecilia's door and flung it open.