The hall was a broad one, running right through the centre of the
house from front to rear. Godfrey proceeded cautiously and yet rapidly
the whole length of it, flashing his torch into every room. They were
all luxuriously furnished, but were empty of human occupants. From the
kitchen, which closed the hall at the rear, a flight of stone steps
led down into the basement, and Godfrey descended these with a
steadiness I could not but admire. We found ourselves in a square,
stone-flagged room, evidently used as a laundry. Two doors opened out
of it, but both were secured with heavy padlocks.
"Store-rooms or wine-cellars, perhaps," Godfrey ventured, mounted the
stairs again to the kitchen, and returned to the room whence we had
started.
Everything there was as we had left it. The dead man sat huddled
forward in his chair; Swain was still on his knees beside the couch;
the girl had not stirred. Godfrey went to the side of the couch, and,
disregarding Swain's fierce glance, again placed his fingers lightly
on the girl's left temple. Then he came back to me.
"If she doesn't revive pretty soon," he said, "we'll have to try
heroic measures.
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