"There is no one else in the house." "_You_ go in," whispered Dick.

"I will wait here.

Call, if you want me.
Don't startle him.

Go in very softly.

Be very--er--_you_ know ?" Helen moved forward alone.
She laid her hand upon the handle of the studio door.
She wished the weird music within would cease for one moment, that she might feel more able to enter.
Cold shivers ran down her spine.
Try as she would, she could not connect that music with Ronnie.
Somebody else was also in the studio, of that she felt quite certain.
She nearly went back to Dick.
Then--rating herself for cowardice--she turned the handle of the door and passed in.
Dick saw her disappear.
Almost at that moment the 'cello-playing ceased; there was a crash, a cry from Helen, a silence, and then--a wild shriek from Helen, a sound holding so much of fear and of horror, that Dick shouted in reply as he dashed forward.
He found himself in a low room, oak-panelled, lighted only by the uncertain flame a log-fire.