He scrambled eagerly to his feet, and tapped softly. "Gridley!" he whispered, "Gridley! Is that you?"
No one answered, but the bearer of the light seemed to pause in the middle of the floor as if struck by a sudden thought. Then Jack heard the bolts of the outer door withdrawn, and even in his closet felt a rush of cold air. Some one was going out!
"Gridley! Gridley!" he cried desperately. "Let me out, will you? Please let me out."
But Gridley, if Gridley it was, took no heed. The light disappeared, and Jack heard the door close as softly as it had been opened.
He sat down, whimpering and wondering. The use of candles was so uncommon in that house that he could not remember to have once seen one lighted, though he knew that a lanthorn hung behind the kitchen door. Who then was this who used them, and went in and out by night with a foot fall which scarcely broke the stillness? The lad felt his hair move and his skin creep as he crouched trembling in the darkness. Then, on a sudden, he heard the door creak afresh and the footstep return--the same stealthy, cautious footstep, it seemed to him, which he had heard before. But this time there was no light.
None the less was he sure that some one was now standing in the middle of the floor, within a yard or two of his place of confinement. His ears, strained to the utmost, caught the sound of hurried breathing close to him, and besides he had that ill-defined sense of another's presence which we are all apt to feel. Terrified as he was, he still clung desperately to the idea that it was Gridley, and he called the man's name again, his voice shaking with fear. To his surprise he this time got an answer.
"Hush!" some one muttered in the darkness. "Who is that?"
"It is I--Jack," the boy cried joyfully "Please to let me out."
"Where are you?"
"I am locked in the closet by the fireplace, Gridley."