Something had awakened him abruptly. There was a cold draught blowing through the room. He turned his head, his hands still gripping the sides of his chair. His heart gave a leap. The outer door was a few inches open, was being held open by some invisible force. There was some one there, some one on the point of entering stealthily. Even as he watched, the crack became a little wider. He sat with his eyes riveted upon that opening space. The unseen hand was still at work. Every instant he expected to see a face thrust forward. The sensation of absolute physical fear by which he was oppressed was a revelation to him.
He found himself wishing almost feverishly that he was armed. The physical strength in which he had trusted seemed to him at that instant a valueless and impotent thing. There was a splash of spray or raindrops against the window and through the crack in the door. The lamp chimney hissed and spluttered and finally the light went out. The room was in sudden darkness. Hamel sprang then to his feet. Silence had become an intolerable thing. He felt the close presence of another human being creeping in upon him.
"Who's there?" he cried. "Who's there, I say?"
There was no direct answer, only the door was pushed a little further open. He had stepped close to it now. The sweep of the wind was upon his face, although in the black darkness he could see nothing. And then a sudden recollection flashed in upon him.
>From his trousers pocket he snatched a little electric torch. In an instant his thumb had pressed the button. He turned it upon the door. The shivering white hand which held it open was plainly in view. It was the hand of a woman! He stepped swiftly forward.
A dark figure almost fell into his arms.
"Mrs, Fentolin!" he exclaimed, aghast.
An hysterical cry, choked and subdued, broke from her lips. He half carried, half led her to his easy-chair. Suddenly steadied by the presence of this unlooked-for emergency, he closed the outside door and relit the lamp with firm fingers. Then he turned to face her, and his amazement at this strange visit became consternation.
She was still in her dinner-gown of black satin, but it was soaked through with the rain and hung about her like a black shroud. She had lost one shoe, and there was a great hole in her silk stocking.
Her hair was all disarranged; one of its numerous switches was hanging down over her ear. The rouge upon her cheeks had run down on to her neck. She sat there, looking at him out of her hollow eyes like some trapped animal. She was shaking with fear. It was fear, not faintness, which kept her silent.
"Tell me, please, what is the matter?" he insisted, speaking as indifferently as he could. "Tell me at once what has happened?"
She pointed to the door.
"Lock it!" she implored.
He turned down the latch and drew the bolt. The sound seemed to give her a little courage. Her fingers went to her throat for a moment.
"Give me some water."
He poured out some soda-water. She drank only o sip and put it down again. He began to be alarmed. She had the appearance of one who has suddenly lost her senses.
"Please tell me just what has happened?" he begged. "If I can help in any way, you know I will. But you must tell me. Do you realise that it is three o'clock? I should have been in bed, only I went to sleep over the fire here."
"I know," she answered. "It is just the wind that has taken away my breath. It was a hard struggle to get here. Listen - you are our friend, Mr. Hamel - Esther's and mine? Swear that you are our friend?"
"Upon my honour, I am," he assured her. "You should know that."
"For eight years," she went on, her voice clear enough now, although it seemed charged with a curious metallic vibration, "for eight years we've borne it, all three of us, slaves, bound hand and foot, lashed with his tongue, driven along the path of his desires. We have seen evil things. We have been on the point of rebellion, and he's come a little nearer and he's pointed back. He has taken me by the hand, and I have walked by the side of his chair, loathing it, loathing myself, out on to the terrace and down below, just where it happened. You know what happened there, Mr. Hamel?"
"You mean where Mr. Fentolin met with his accident."
"It was no accident!" she cried, glancing for a moment around her.
"It was no accident! It was my husband who took him up and threw him over the terrace, down below; my husband who tried to kill him;
Esther's father - Gerald's father! Miles was in the Foreign Office then, and he did something disgraceful. He sold a secret to Austria.
He was always a great gambler, and he was in debt. Seymour found out about it. He followed him down here. They met upon the terrace.
I - I saw it!"
He was silent for a moment.
"No one has known the truth," he murmured.
"No one has ever known," she assented, "and our broken lives have been the price. It was Miles himself who made the bargain. We - we can't go on, Mr. Hamel."
"I begin to understand," Hamel said softly. "You suffer everything from Miles Fentolin because he kept the secret. Very well, that belongs to the past. Something has happened, something to-night, which has brought you here. Tell me about it?"
Once more her voice began to shake.
"We've seen - terrible things - horrible things," she faltered.
"We've held our peace. Perhaps it's been nearly as bad before, but we've closed our eyes; we haven't wanted to know. Now - we can't help it. Mr. Hamel, Esther isn't at Lord Saxthorpe's.
She never went there. They didn't ask her. And Dunster - the man Dunster -"
"'Where is Esther?" Hamel interrupted suddenly.
"Locked up away from you, locked up because she rebelled! "
"And Dunster?"
She shook her head. Her eyes were filled with horror.
"But he left the Hall - I saw him!"
She shook her head.
"It wasn't Dunster. It was the man Miles makes use of - Ryan, the librarian. He was once an actor."
"Where is Dunster, then?" Hamel asked quickly. "What has become of him?"
She opened her lips and closed them again, struggled to speak and failed. She sat there, breathing quickly, but silent. The power of speech had gone.
