The chances of breaking in there were better. There was a small projection built about half-way up the house with a window level with the first floor, which did not appear to have either shutters or bars. A stack pipe offered a chance of reaching this window, and although the pipe was unpleasantly insecure I judged that even if it gave way I could not hurt myself much, as there was a flower bed with some shrubs on the spot where I should fall. I began the ascent very cautiously, digging my toes into the courses of the bricks where I could, and carefully testing the bearing strain of the pipe before trusting my full weight on it. It was a very difficult business, for part of my disguise consisted of a long overcoat which hampered almost every step I took. But I made the ascent safely and managed to get a grip of the window ledge, and then, pulling myself up till my chin was level with the window, I found a slender but sufficient hold for my feet on a ledge of the brickwork. To my relief the window was unfastened. I opened it very cautiously, climbed in over the sill, into a tiny room quite bare of furniture. I listened intently and, not hearing a sound, tried the handle of the door. To my intense chagrin, it was locked. It seemed as if some diabolical ingenuity was at work to prevent my effecting Miralda’s rescue. The door opened outwards and that made it easier for me to force it; but I was loth to make the row which this would cause and so advertise the fact that I was in the house. It had to be done, however, so I put my shoulder to it and tried first to force it open with quiet pressure. This proving unavailing I dashed myself against it with all my weight and strength. At the third attempt it yielded with a crash which echoed through the house, making a din which would have roused the heaviest sleeper in the remotest part of the building. Then I stood listening again intently. Not a sound. I was close to the head of the stairs. Fearing that the noise I had made would scarce Inez and Miralda half out of their senses, I tried to reassure them. “Miralda, Miralda. It is I, Ralph,” I called loudly, but only the echo of my own voice replied. Disconcerted at this, I lit a match and hurried through the rooms, calling her name as I went. I searched first those on the floor where I was; next those above, and then went below. Save for the scanty furniture, the house was empty, and there was not a sign that Miralda had ever been in it. CHAPTER XXXVI UNTIL LIFE’S END Earlier in the evening, barely an hour before, indeed, the discovery that the house was deserted would have alarmed me profoundly, for Miralda’s disappearance might then have had a very sinister significance. But she was no longer in any danger. Barosa was dead and I had the assurance of the pardon for her association with his plot. Instead of being alarmed therefore, I burst out laughing as the reason for her disappearance flashed upon me.