"I can't imagine Fanny Armstrong in such a place."
"It's true, nevertheless.
Ella Stewart says Mrs. Armstrong has aged terribly, and looks as if she is hardly able to walk."
I lay and thought over some of these things until midnight.
The electric lights went out then, fading slowly until there was only a red-hot loop to be seen in the bulb, and then even that died away and we were embarked on the darkness of another night.
Apparently only a few minutes elapsed, during which my eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness.
Then I noticed that the windows were reflecting a faint pinkish light, Liddy noticed it at the same time, and I heard her jump up.
At that moment Sam's deep voice boomed from somewhere just below.
"Fire!" he yelled.
"The stable's on fire!"
I could see him in the glare dancing up and down on the drive, and a moment later Halsey joined him.
Alex was awake and running down the stairs, and in five minutes from the time the fire was discovered, three of the maids were sitting on their trunks in the drive, although, excepting a few sparks, there was no fire nearer than a hundred yards.
Gertrude seldom loses her presence of mind, and she ran to the telephone. But by the time the Casanova volunteer fire department came toiling up the hill the stable was a furnace, with the Dragon Fly safe but blistered, in the road.
Some gasolene exploded just as the volunteer department got to work, which shook their nerves as well as the burning building.
The stable, being on a hill, was a torch to attract the population from every direction.
Rumor had it that Sunnyside was burning, and it was amazing how many people threw something over their night-clothes and flew to the conflagration.
I take it Casanova has few fires, and Sunnyside was furnishing the people, in one way and another, the greatest excitement they had had for years.
The stable was off the west wing.
I hardly know how I came to think of the circular staircase and the unguarded door at its foot.
Liddy was putting my clothes into sheets, preparatory to tossing them out the window, when I found her, and I could hardly persuade her to stop.
"I want you to come with me, Liddy," I said.
"Bring a candle and a couple of blankets."
She lagged behind considerably when she saw me making for the east wing, and at the top of the staircase she balked.
"I am not going down there," she said firmly.
"There is no one guarding the door down there," I explained.
"Who knows?—this may be a scheme to draw everybody away from this end of the house, and let some one in here."
The instant I had said it I was convinced I had hit on the explanation, and that perhaps it was already too late.
It seemed to me as I listened that I heard stealthy footsteps on the east porch, but there was so much shouting outside that it was impossible to tell.
Liddy was on the point of retreat.
"Very well," I said, "then I shall go down alone.
Run back to Mr. Halsey's room and get his revolver.
Don't shoot down the stairs if you hear a noise: remember—I shall be down there.
And hurry."
I put the candle on the floor at the top of the staircase and took off my bedroom slippers. Then I crept down the stairs, going very slowly, and listening with all my ears.
I was keyed to such a pitch that I felt no fear: like the condemned who sleep and eat the night before execution, I was no longer able to suffer apprehension.
I was past that.
Just at the foot of the stairs I stubbed my toe against Halsey's big chair, and had to stand on one foot in a soundless agony until the pain subsided to a dull ache.
And then—I knew I was right.
Some one had put a key into the lock, and was turning it.
For some reason it refused to work, and the key was withdrawn.
There was a muttering of voices outside: I had only a second.
Another trial, and the door would open.
The candle above made a faint gleam down the well-like staircase, and at that moment, with a second, no more, to spare, I thought of a plan.
The heavy oak chair almost filled the space between the newel post and the door.
With a crash I had turned it on its side, wedging it against the door, its legs against the stairs.
I could hear a faint scream from Liddy, at the crash, and then she came down the stairs on a run, with the revolver held straight out in front of her.
"Thank God," she said, in a shaking voice.
"I thought it was you."
I pointed to the door, and she understood.
"Call out the windows at the other end of the house," I whispered.