pretext Carrie had given to try to get him into the front room.

She had told him there were things of hers in there which she wanted. He
had believed her, at least, implicitly. But now he knew that her pretext
was a lie. She also, therefore, had been an accomplice in the plot to
get him into this room.

As this thought came into his mind, he heard again the creaking of the
boards, and this time it was accompanied by another sound, faint,
intermittent, but unmistakable--the sound of the splashing of water
close to his feet.

Turning quickly to the door, he raised his fist and brought it upon the
boards with a sounding crash; at the same time he shouted for "Help!"
with all the strength of his lungs. He repeated the blow, the cry.

Again he heard, when he paused to listen, the faint splashing of the
water, the creaking of the boards behind him. Then, just as he raised
his hand for one more blow on the door, he felt it open a very little,
pushing him back.

And at the same moment a voice whispered:

"Sh-sh!"

Very gradually the door was opened a little farther. A hand caught the
sleeve of his coat. It was quite dark outside the door--as dark as in
the front room.

"Sh-sh!" was whispered again in his ear, as he felt himself drawn