Once out of doors, Lockwood couldn’t fail to be impressed with the beauty of the morning landscape. One of the most beautiful bits of New England scenery, it was newly lovely in its sheath of ice. Lockwood’s hasty steps crunched through the crusted snow, and he hurried over to the Waring house. Ito opened the door for him and Mrs. Peyton met him in the hall. “Something has happened to Doctor Waring,” she said at once; “he stayed in the study all night.” “Why? What do you mean?” asked the secretary. “Just that. His room door is still open, and his bed hasn’t been slept in. Also, Ito says he can see him in the study, through the dining-room window. I—I haven’t looked—” “Why don’t you go in?” “The study door is locked.” “Locked! And Doctor Waring still in there?” “Yes; I think he must have had a stroke—or, something—” “Nonsense! He’s just asleep. He’s overworked of late, anyway.” “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” And Mrs. Peyton looked relieved. “You see about it, Mr. Lockwood, won’t you?” The secretary went first to the study door. He rapped, and then he tried the door, and then rapped again, very loudly. But no response came, and Lockwood returned to the dining-room. “Can you see through that glass?” he asked in surprise, noting the thick, leaded mosaic of pieces. “Yes, sir, through this corner,” Ito directed him, and, peering through, Lockwood discerned the figure of John Waring. He sat at his desk, his body fallen slightly forward, and his head drooped on his breast. “Sound asleep,” said Lockwood, but his tone carried no conviction. Mrs. Peyton well knew the man’s disinclination to show any emotion, and in spite of his calm, she was almost certain he shared her own belief that John Waring was not merely asleep. “We must get to him,” Lockwood said, after a moment’s pause. “Can you get through one of these windows, Ito, and unbolt the door?” “No, sir; these windows do not open at all.” “Not open? Why not?” Save to remark the beauty of their color and design, Lockwood had never before noticed the windows, especially, and was genuinely surprised to discover that they could not be opened at all. “Of what use are they?” he mused, aloud; “They give very little light.” “They were outside windows before the study was built,” Mrs. Peyton told him, “and when the stained glass was put in, it was merely for decoration and the panes were not made movable.” “Well, we must get in,” said Lockwood, almost impatiently. “How shall we do it? You, Ito, must know how.” “No, sir, there is no way. Unless, the long window is unfastened.” The long French window—really a double door—was on the other side of the study, exactly opposite the useless high windows that gave into the dining-room. To reach it one must go out and around the house. “It is very bad snow—” Ito shrugged. “You heathen!” Lockwood exclaimed, scornfully, and himself dashed out at the front door and around to the side of the house.