, of the sort of thing that might lurk in the
ancient wing with its recollections of birth and suffering and death. But
he had gone there as an escape. Surely he had been afraid of men. It
shamed her that, in spite of that, her fear defined itself ever more
clearly as something indefinable. With a passionate determination to
strangle such thoughts she held her breath. She tried to close her mind.
She entered the corridor. She ran its length. She knocked at the locked
door of the old bedroom. She shrank as the echoes rattled from the dingy
walls where her candle cast strange reflections. There was no other
answer. A sense of an intolerable companionship made her want to cry out
for brilliant light, for help. She screamed.

"Uncle Silas! Uncle Silas!"

Through the silence that crushed her voice she became aware finally of
the accomplishment of its mission by death in this house. And she fled
into the main hall. She jerked at the bell rope. The contact steadied
her, stimulated her to reason. One slender hope remained. The
oppressive bedroom might have driven Silas Blackburn through the
private hall and down the enclosed staircase. Perhaps he slept on the
lounge in the library.

She stumbled down, hoping to meet Jenkins. She crossed the hall and the
dining room and entered the library. She bent over the lounge. It was
empty. Her candle was reflected in the face of the clock on the mantel.
Its hands pointed to half-past two.

She pulled at the bell cord by the fireplace. Why didn't the butler come?
Alone she couldn't climb the enclosed staircase to try the other door. It
seemed impossible to her that she should wait another instant alone--

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 object