Alan wore black rubber-soled shoes; his long, lightweight dark overcoat and a dark cap. The bag was under his arm. In his overcoat pocket he had the small revolver. "Tools, Charlie. To open the door of the girl's room--later, when that Indian gets to sleep--" The bag contained a chisel, a screw-driver and other implements with which he might force a lock. And a vial of chloroform and a sponge. * * * * * They crept along the hallway, into the main lower corridor. Alan feared that at any moment they would be discovered. He would make a dash to get out the way they had come in-- "Here! Come in here." Charlie twitched him suddenly by the arm. Through an archway, and Alan found himself in a familiar room--the reception room. It was unlighted. Its furniture showed dimly in the light from the corridor. Like shadows they slid into the recess behind the portieres of the windows. "What is it, Charlie? Some one coming?" "No. I want to show you--outside here. Big things afoot here tonight--dark deeds of mystery. I know--I've seen them!" They cautiously raised one of the shades a trifle. Alan saw that the main courtyard was dark and silent. The single door of the laboratory building was closed. "What, Charlie? Shall we stay here awhile?" "Yes. Big things going on. You'll see." "But what? What have you seen?" "Things you can't see from here. From the roof you can see them because you're higher than those other walls. Shall we go to the roof? I've got the key--that's Bluebeard's key--" "No. Stay here awhile." They were comparatively safe, here behind the portieres. Alan was waiting until later, when he could go up to the girl's room. They crouched at the window. Half an hour passed. An hour. It was getting toward half past eleven. No lights showed now in any of the courtyard windows; it was all dark out there. Once or twice Alan had heard footsteps in the main corridor outside the reception room. But no one had entered; and for half an hour now there had been no sound of anyone. Another interval. "We've been here long enough," Alan decided. "All right." The boy was shaking again. "It's midnight, isn't it? 'The very witching time of night when churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood and do such bitter business as the day would quake to look on--'" "Charlie, stop that!" "It's Hamlet. I'm like Hamlet--a little mad, but though they fool me to the top of my bent they cannot play upon me!" "Stop it! Let's go upstairs now." "Shall we? All right. Go where?" "To the girl's room. Can you lead me there?" "Yes. But she isn't there!" "What?" It electrified Alan. "Not there!" He gripped Charlie. "What do you mean?" "Don't! You hurt!" The lad jerked away. "Sorry, Charlie! But hush, you make too much noise!" "All right. But you hurt me. The girl isn't up there." "Why in Heaven's name didn't you say so long ago? Where is she?"