Desmond sprang to her side.
“Barbara!” he cried and never noticed that he called her by her Christian name.
Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the black-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there were black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet highly-strung look about her that you see in people who habitually take drugs.
She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had not spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving her body about uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbed by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond saw that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the chair. Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but her hands had been left free.
“Barbara!” said Desmond softly, “you know me! I’m Desmond Okewood! I’ve come to take you home!”
The word “home” seemed to catch the girl’s attention; for now she turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in her eyes, wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of a tortured animal.
Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara’s arms when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front of the window were just beside him. They were long and reached to the floor. Without a second’s hesitation he slipped behind them and found himself in the recess of a shallow bow window.
The bow window was in three parts and the central part was open wide at the bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was in reality the roof of a bow window of one of the rooms on the floor below. Desmond promptly scrambled out of the window and letting himself drop on to the balcony crouched down below the sill.
A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps moving about and cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound of curtains being drawn back and a voice said just above him:
“He’s not here! I tell you the fellow’s not in the house! Now perhaps you’ll believe me!”