‘Lucille,’ he said, in an eager whisper, ‘you are wrong. There is some one in that room—the door exactly facing these stairs. Look.’ He pointed, and her eyes followed the direction of his finger. For a few moments she stood speechless, looking at the door with a scared face, and leaning upon him more heavily than before. ‘Nonsense, Lucius! you are dreaming. There can be no one there; the rooms are empty; the doors are all locked.’ ‘I am quite certain, dearest,’ he answered, still in a whisper, and with his eyes fixed upon the door that had opened, or seemed to open. ‘Don’t be alarmed; it may be nothing wrong. It is only old Wincher prowling about this floor, I daresay, just as he prowls about the down-stair rooms. I’ll soon settle the question.’ ‘I tell you, Lucius, the doors are all locked,’ cried Lucille, in a tone far louder than her wonted accents—a voice of anger or of alarm. Lucius tried the door with a strong and resolute hand—shook it till it rattled in its time-worn frame. It was locked certainly, but locked on the inside. The keyhole was darkened by the key. ‘It is locked on the inside, Lucille,’ he said; ‘there is some one in the room.’ ‘Impossible! Who should be there? No one ever comes up to this floor. There is nothing here to tempt a thief, even if thieves ever troubled this house. I keep the keys of all these rooms. Pray come down-stairs, Lucius. My grandfather will be impatient about those papers.’ ‘How can that door be locked on the inside if you have the key of it?’ ‘I have not the key of that particular door. There is a door of communication between that room and the next, and I keep one locked on the inside. It saves trouble.’ ‘Let me see the two rooms; let me satisfy myself that all is right,’ he said, stretching out his hand for the keys. ‘I will not encourage any such folly,’ answered Lucille, moving quickly towards the staircase leading to the lower story. ‘Pray bring those papers, Lucius. I could not have imagined you were so weak-minded.’ ‘Do you call it weak-minded to trust my own senses? And I have a special reason for being anxious upon this point.’ She was on her way down-stairs by this time. Lucius lingered to listen at the door, but no sound came from the room within. He tried all the doors one after another: they were all locked. He knelt down to look through the keyholes. Two of the rooms were darkened by closed shutters, only faint gleams of light filtering through the narrow spaces between them. One was lighter, and in this he saw an old bedstead and some pieces of dilapidated furniture. It looked a room which might have been used at some time for a servant’s bedroom.