I put forward a tentative foot and found solid, level, carpeted floor. I stepped forward into the darkness and closed the door behind me. And at that moment I heard the first sound of another living being since I had started on my search. The sound was a very faint sob, some way off, but distinguishable in the utter silence about me. For a moment I stood still in complete darkness and listened. Then I put out my hands cautiously and encountered walls on either side, showing me that I was in a passage of some kind. And so, with my fingers following the walls, I advanced, stepping very slowly and feeling out each step before I took it, lest I stumble or fall on a stairway either up or down. And as I advanced, the sound of sobbing grew louder, although it was still hushed and faint, as though coming to me through some solid medium. The sound came from straight in front of me. Every now and then, as I progressed, I waved one hand in front of me slowly as a precaution against running into something. And it was lucky that I did so, for presently my questing fingers came up against something solid, and I came to a halt. Investigation showed me that it was a door. There were still walls on either side of me. I was in a _cul-de-sac_. I tried the handle very softly. The door was locked. And as I stood there, wondering what to do next, another stifled sob came to my ears. Some one was crying beyond the locked door in front of me. I could hear it clearly now, and with it the sound of some one turning restlessly on a couch or a bed. I listened for several minutes, hoping that the person beyond the door would give some clue to her identity. For it was obviously a woman. And as I listened I was filled with pity for the heart-broken woman caught in such a place. It seemed probable that it was Mrs. Fawcette, after what I had seen. And a sudden impulse came to me to find out without disclosing my own identity. It seemed very unlikely that she would give me away, after the way I had seen her treated. Nor would any other woman in trouble there be likely to raise an alarm. I leaned closer to the door and called, very softly, “Mrs. Fawcette?” Instantly the sobbing ceased and there was dead silence. Then, after a moment, I heard the rustle of clothing and the sound of timid feet approaching the door. Again there was silence. And then: “Please, who is there?” came to me in a young girl’s voice. My heart stopped beating for an instant and then galloped on again, and I lowered myself to my knees and pressed my mouth to the keyhole. “Margaret!” I whispered softly. “Is that you, dear?” There was a little gasp behind the door and a quick movement. “Oh, who is that? Who are you?” “It’s your brother, darling!” I answered hoarsely. “It’s Jack! For God’s sake tell me, what have they done to you?” I fumbled at the knob. “Can you open the door?” “No, I’m locked in. Oh, Jack! Jack! You’ve found me! I knew you would! Oh, take me away from here! Take me home again!”