Somewhere upstairs a dull, choking rasp broke the soundless gloom.

Aunt Agatha began to flutter nervously up the stairway.
"It's Carl of course!" she murmured in a panic.

"I just know it is.
I've never known him to even gurgle--much less snore in his sleep.
Like as not his windows are still boarded up and he's suffocating.
Only a Westfall would think of such a thing." Puffing, Aunt Agatha halted at her nephew's door.

That and the one adjoining were locked.

There was a den beyond.