I listened, dreading that she would cry out in alarm, but the same dead
silence followed.

Then, out of the silence, hammering on my eardrums, burst the loud
ticking of the little alarm-clock that I had left on the mantel of the
bedroom. I heard that, and it must have been ticking minutes before
the sound reached me; perhaps if I waited a little longer I should hear
her breathing.

The alarm-clock was one of that kind which, when set to "repeat,"
utters a peculiar little click every two hundred and eighth stroke
owing to a catch in the mechanism. Formerly it had annoyed me
inexpressibly, and I would lie awake for hours waiting for that tiny
sound. Now I could hear even that, and heard it repeat and repeat
itself; but I could not hear Jacqueline breathe.

I took the key of the apartment door from my pocket at last and fitted
it noiselessly into the lock. I stood there, trembling and irresolute.
I dared not turn the key. The hall door gave immediately upon the
rooms without a private passage, and at the moment when I opened the
door I should be practically inside my bedroom save for the intervening
curtain.

Once more I ventured:

"Jacqueline! Jacqueline!"

There was not the smallest answering stir within. And so, with shaking
fingers, I turned the key.