“The door’s locked!” he said incredulously. “The key’s gone too. Where’s your revolver, Beresford?”
“I dropped it in the alcove when I caught that man,” called Beresford, cursing himself for his carelessness.
The illuminated dial of Bailey’s wrist watch flickered in the darkness as he searched for the revolver—as round, glowing spot of phosphorescence.
Lizzie screamed. “The eye! The gleaming eye I saw on the stairs!” she shrieked, pointing at it frenziedly.
“Quick—there’s a candle on the table—light it somebody. Never mind the revolver, I have one!” called Miss Cornelia.
“Righto!” called Beresford cheerily in reply. He found the candle, lit it—
The party blinked at each other for a moment, still unable quite to co-ordinate their thoughts.
Bailey rattled the knob of the door into the hall.
“This door’s locked, too!” he said with increasing puzzlement. A gasp went over the group. They were locked in the room while some devilment was going on in the rest of the house. That they knew. But what it might be, what form it might take, they had not the remotest idea. They were too distracted to notice the injured man, now alert in his chair, or the Doctor’s odd attitude of listening, above the rattle and banging of the storm.
But it was not until Miss Cornelia took the candle and proceeded toward the hall door to examine it that the full horror of the situation burst upon them.