Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/114

102 "Come outside," commanded the doctor. He was already backing off toward the still open door. The two little old men followed him, with creaking agility, like two rusty old crows on the wing.

I sat there with my knees crossed as one of the old conspirators reached back and swung the door shut. But the moment this closed door stood between me and that mysterious trio I darted across the room and got an ear against the panel.

"Well, what is it?" I heard in the thin falsetto of a half-querulous resentment.

"Bartlett, it's too late!" was the other man's answer. It was said in little more than a husky whisper, but I could hear it plainly enough, for it seemed to come with the weight of a thunder-clap.

"Too late? Why too late?" queried the squeakier voice.

"Because she is dead!" was the other man's answer.