"I call that a mean quibble," I replied indignantly, though in my heart I felt that I had been wildly injudicious. "You did not tell me where you were going this evening before you came out." "No," he replied, "I had not decided that I would come--word of honour, Reggie. And I am very sorry that I stayed so long--but--it was so tempting. I got in so easily, and everything seemed to favour it, and--" "Moore," I exclaimed, "did you really go into the house? I am ashamed of you. It wasn't like a gentleman;" and indeed I felt aghast. "Only into that first room," he replied deprecatingly. "I did so want to see what was behind that black curtain, though--you were right, Reggie--it isn't black, only very dark red." "And what _was_ behind it?" I could not help asking. "Something very queer," he answered eagerly, delighted to find that my curiosity was still in existence, "ropes and pulleys, horrid looking things. They reminded me of the Inquisition." "I dare say it is only a shower-bath," I replied, "No, no, I thought of that. I am sure it isn't," he exclaimed. "I--" but here I stopped him. "Moore," I interrupted, "we are mad to stand chattering here. Any moment some one may pass and hear us. Wait till we are safely outside the door." He made no objection, and we hurried on as fast as the small space before us made it possible, and we reached the door without further ado. With no misgiving I seized the handle--for there was a handle--to pull it open, when--never shall I forget my horror!--it resisted me. The door was locked! CHAPTER EIGHT. A CATASTROPHE. For a moment or two we stood, as people generally do in such a case, stupefied, paralysed, so to say, staring at each other blankly. Then there came a reaction of incredulity. It _could_ not be so. "It must have stuck," said Moore, seizing the handle in his turn. But no! He shook and pulled and pushed in vain, there was no sign of yielding, not even the faintest creak. The door was a strong one, and the lock in good order. Some one must have passed out since I entered--a gardener probably--with authority in the shape of a key, to fasten up for the night. There was no use in hiding from ourselves any longer the dire certainty that we were trapped, however involuntarily on the part of our captors. "It must be the rule, I suppose, to lock up here late every evening. Moore, what have you got me into? It is far worse for me than for you." "You shouldn't have followed me," he said half sulkily, then his better feelings reasserted themselves. "I am _awfully_ sorry, Reggie, dreadfully sorry, but don't lose heart yet. There are ways and means; the wall isn't so very high after all," and he stepped back a pace or two, and stood regarding it with anxious criticism.