When the long old grandfather’s clock in the hall had chimed eleven, I ascended the wide staircase with Cardew, and with an electric torch which I had several hours ago found in the library, we gained the landing.
Redwood brushed past in haste, and in reply to my question gave but little hope of my poor love’s recovery. “Mortimer is about to make a last effort with another injection,” he said. “But I fear, Mr Kemball, that we must now abandon all hope.”
My heart stood still. His words fell upon me as though he had struck me a blow.
“No hope?” I managed to gasp.
“No, none, Mr Kemball,” replied the doctor, and he hurried away to fetch something from the servants’ quarters.
I made no further remark. Mere words failed me. If Asta were lost to me, then it was my duty to avenge her death. Therefore I drew Cardew into the dark bedroom in which the dying girl had witnessed the hideous apparition of the hand, and then, with difficulty—for one hinge was broken—I closed the door.
Afterwards, I switched on the electric light and we made a minute and careful examination of the apartment. But we discovered nothing. Before entering there I noticed that the door of Shaw’s room adjoining was closed, for he was still downstairs writing.
Presently, when we had satisfied ourselves that in the room was nothing suspicious, I pointed out to my friend that if we remained quietly in the darkness, without speaking, no one would suspect us of being there.
“Now,” I added, “I’m going to lie on that bed while you sit in yonder armchair in the corner; you take the torch, and at sign of the slightest movement flash on a light at anything you may see. Don’t hesitate, for—well, perhaps my life may be in danger, like Guy’s. Who knows?”
I had taken from the corner Asta’s small ash walking-stick which she sometimes used when tramping about the country, and with this in my hand I lay down upon the pillow, fully dressed as I was.