Of that I was convinced, and I believed we were now about to lift the veil hiding the tragedy.

My heart pounded like a hammer as I rapped on the wooden panels and waited some response from within.

There was no answer, no sound of movement, and I rapped again more loudly, my questioning eyes seeking LeVere's face.

He was listening as intently as myself, his eyes expressing anxiety.

If I had felt some suspicion of the man before, this lack of faith vanished---he certainly was concerned in no plot involving the life of the Portuguese.
"There is something wrong, Senor," he whispered, "for he was ever a light sleeper." "Then we will find out what it is." The door was unlocked, the latch yielding instantly to the hand, and I stepped within.