Page:Arthur Stringer - The Door of Dread.djvu/89

 puzzled her. It became a source of apprehension, of actual alarm. Yet she compelled herself to wait, changing her position a little from time to time, to rest her straining body. Then all further waiting became unendurable.

She closed her hand about the door-knob, turning it softly. To her relief she found the door still unlocked. She swung it back an inch or two, peered out and opened it still wider. Then she stepped into the hall itself. She stood close against the door-frame, staring from one end of this hall to the other.

It was empty.

Her next movement, in accordance with a natural impulse to escape, was toward the street-door. She sidled forward cautiously and silently, until she could go no farther. Then, with a deep breath, she dropped her revolver back in the hand-bag, reached out a hand and turned the knob.

But the door refused to open. It was securely locked, and in it she could find no trace of a key. Close as she was to the open, she found herself shut off from the street by an iron grilling as heavy as cell-bars. Yet it was not alarm that swept through her. It was more a wave of exasperation.

She stood with her back to the door, studying the