“Something very queer,” he answered eagerly, delighted to find that my curiosity was still in existence, “ropes and pulleys, horrid looking things. They reminded me of the Inquisition.”
“I dare say it is only a shower-bath,” I replied, “No, no, I thought of that. I am sure it isn’t,” he exclaimed. “I—” but here I stopped him.
“Moore,” I interrupted, “we are mad to stand chattering here. Any moment some one may pass and hear us. Wait till we are safely outside the door.”
He made no objection, and we hurried on as fast as the small space before us made it possible, and we reached the door without further ado.
With no misgiving I seized the handle—for there was a handle—to pull it open, when—never shall I forget my horror!—it resisted me.
The door was locked!