He resumed his manipulation of the knob. Garth noticed that from time to time he glanced quickly over his shoulder at the somber corners of the room.
Nora had, to a certain extent, startled Garth. Her barely audible words still breathed disquietingly in his ears. They had been like a bow drawn across a string too tightly stretched.
She kept her face hidden now while George worked. The only sound was the muffled clicking of the balls in the combination; the only light, the shaft from the lamp which she held unsteadily. The thought of the steel walls added to the oppression of the air. Garth breathed with difficulty. He fancied once that something moved behind the divan. George caught his start and demanded an explanation. He scolded querulously.
"Well," Garth croaked, "I agree with the lady. I don't like the room."
"I looked around," George said.
Nora lowered her arms.
"George," she said, "sometimes you can't see everything."
She straightened. That disquieting, colorless whisper came again.
"I know what it is. That cop was killed here, wasn't he?"
"What do I know about it?" he asked angrily.