Then he heard the man’s voice somewhat louder, and speaking impatiently, as if he had commanded some one to do something, and had not been obeyed.
It was followed, as before, by the low sobbing, and a faint, heart-broken moaning that made Earle Wayne feel very strangely.
“There is something wrong going on in there,” he muttered to himself. “The clerk said the man would not return here to-night; but it seems he has, and I don’t like the sound of things at all.”
He arose and went softly to the door which led into the other apartment.
It was a very thick, solid door, and prevented his hearing distinctly anything that was said.
He bent his head to the keyhole, but even then could only catch the sound of a man and woman conversing in low tones, without distinguishing a word.
The sobbing had ceased for the moment, but, at a question apparently addressed to a third party, it immediately began again.
A cold sweat gathered upon Earle Wayne’s forehead.
The sounds affected him as he had never been affected before. He longed to know what piece of wickedness—for wickedness he was convinced it was—was being enacted within those walls at that time of night.
A faint light from the other room shone into his through the transom, so that he could distinguish every object in it. He glanced up at the light, a sudden thought striking him.