‘The first sign of the presence of a human being we have had,—doors don’t lock themselves. It’s just possible that there may have been someone or something about the place, at some time or other, after all.’
Grasping the handle firmly, he shook it with all his might,—as he had done with the door at the back. So flimsily was the place constructed that he made even the walls to tremble.
‘Within there!—if anyone is in there!—if you don’t open this door, I shall.’
There was no response.
‘So be it!—I’m going to pursue my wild career of defiance of established law and order, and gain admission in one way, if I can’t in another.’
Putting his right shoulder against the door, he pushed with his whole force. Sydney is a big man, and very strong, and the door was weak. Shortly, the lock yielded before the continuous pressure, and the door flew open. Sydney whistled.
‘So!—It begins to occur to me, Mr Holt, that that story of yours may not have been such pure romance as it seemed.’
It was plain enough that, at any rate, this room had been occupied, and that recently,—and, if his taste in furniture could be taken as a test, by an eccentric occupant to boot. My own first impression was that there was someone, or something, living in it still,—an uncomfortable odour greeted our nostrils, which was suggestive of some evil-smelling animal. Sydney seemed to share my thought.
‘A pretty perfume, on my word! Let’s shed a little more light on the subject, and see what causes it. Marjorie, stop where you are until I tell you.’
I had noticed nothing, from without, peculiar about the appearance of the blind which screened the window, but it must have been made of some unusually thick material, for, within, the room was strangely dark. Sydney entered, with the intention of drawing up the blind, but he had scarcely taken a couple of steps when he stopped.