There was no reply.
"Is any one with you?"
"Oh, please go away. Do have pity on me and go away."
She was alone, Kenwick decided, and was afraid to tell him so. The realization brought a wave of hot color to his face. He dragged himself painfully back to the landing. And from that distance he sent his voice up to her, freighted with reassurance.
"Don't be frightened. I'm pretty badly bunged up just now, but I found a revolver over in the other wing, and if anybody comes prowling about—well, I'm not a bad shot." Suddenly a new thought occurred to him. "Have you had anything to eat this morning? Are you hungry?"
"I think—I am starving."
It was like a spray of ice-water in his face. He stood for a moment considering, "I'll get you something," he promised. "If you don't want to come out I'll fix it and bring it up on a tray."
"There would be no use."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't open the door."