"Perhaps he did, and we were inside the little oratory. It's my own stupid fault for shutting the door. I ought to have thought about it. It never struck me he might come upstairs and think we were gone." "Will he be coming up again?" "It's not at all likely. He's probably gone home." "Won't anybody else hear us if we knock and call?" "I'm dreadfully afraid not, but we'll try again." So once more they thumped and shouted and the old hall echoed, but nobody came to release them. The situation was serious. If the caretaker had gone home they were very much locked in, for not only was the door of the museum secured, but also the door of the big hall, and the door leading to the courtyard. Until to-morrow morning they were as good as prisoners. There still, however, remained the window. Miss Renton climbed on a chair and peered through the small leaded panes. Unfortunately, instead of opening on to the street, it only overlooked a kind of sunk well among the buildings, so it would be impossible to attract the attention of anybody outside. Marion's eyes were filling with tears. "Mother'll be _so_ anxious when I don't turn up," she gulped. "She'll never think of coming to the museum to look for me." "Nobody will," said Lesbia with a suspicious quaver in her voice. "It'll be simply ghastly to stay here all night." "And so cold." "I'd give worlds for some tea." "We have each other's company at any rate," consoled Miss Renton. "Be glad you weren't locked in alone." "Alone! Oh, I'd go mad!" "So should I. I'd be afraid of the dark, and of spooks, and of rats, and of all sorts of horrible things. Yes, I'd be absolutely raving in less than ten minutes." "And yet, in the Middle Ages, girls were sometimes shut up alone in prisons far more dismal than this room, and kept there for years. Think of the prisoners in the Bastille. Or those who were taken by the 'Inquisition'." "How horribly cruel. I wonder they lived through it, poor things." "It's all very well to talk about the Middle Ages, but that doesn't get us out of this place," said Marion, rather crossly. "Are we going to stay the night here? Or is there any way of getting out?" Miss Renton looked at the small portion of the window which opened, and shook her head. "Even if we could squeeze through there we couldn't drop to the yard, and we should be no better off if we did." "I shall hate the sight of these show-cases for evermore. I believe that stuffed badger is blinking at me." "Don't be silly!" "I know I'm silly, but it's beginning to get d-d-d-dark in here, and I'm scared to stay all n-n-n-night." Marion was dabbing her eyes openly. She made no pretence at heroism. Adventures might be romantic enough in the Middle Ages, but they were decidedly unpleasant in the twentieth century. She would rather read about them than experience them.