The butler, as old and as gray as Silas Blackburn, faltered in. He started back when he saw her.
"My God, Miss Katherine! What's the matter? You look like death."
"There's death," she said.
She indicated the door of the enclosed staircase. She led the way with the candle. The panelled, narrow hall was empty. That door, too, was locked and the key, she knew, must be on the inside.
"Who—who is it?" Jenkins asked. "Who would be in that room? Has Mr.
Bobby come back?"
She descended to the library before answering. She put the candle down and spread her hands.
"It's happened, Jenkins—whatever he feared."
"Not Mr. Silas?"
"We have to break in," she said with a shiver. "Get a hammer, a chisel, whatever is necessary."
"But if there's anything wrong," the butler objected, "if anybody's been there, the other door must be open."