By over there he meant the convent of the Farnesiani nus. From the window he could see down the cul-de-sac that led to the convent. He knew the place well; he knew it to be well deserving of its name, the Living Tomb, and that of its inmates it was said ‘they daily die and dig their own graves.’
If Alma was indeed in there, then she was lost.
Bradley shook off as far as he could his feeling of helplessness and hopelessness, and with frenzied haste he rose from the chair, left the house, and went over towards the convent.
He knew that the only way to communicate with the inmates was to mount to a platform above the walls of the houses, and to rap on a barrel projecting from the platform. He had once been there and had been admitted. He forgot that then he had proper credentials, and that now he had none.
He was soon on the platform, and not only rapped, but thundered on the barrel.
A muffled voice from the interior demanded his business.
His reply was whether an Englishwoman named Craik was within the convent. To that question he had no answer, and the voice within did not speak again.
He stayed long and repeated his question again and again in the hope of obtaining an answer, and only left when he had attracted attention, and was invited by the police to desist.
What was to be done? he asked himself as he stood in the street. Do something he must, but what?
‘I have it!’ he said. ‘I will go to the Jesuit head-quarters and demand to be informed;’ and putting his resolve into action he walked thither.