The Seclusion of the Old Lady
When we got down into the area I felt indescribably foolish—literally, as the saying is, in a hole. There was nothing but a closed door, shuttered windows, the steps down which we had come, the ridiculous well in which I found myself, and the ridiculous man who had brought me there, and who stood there with dancing eyes. I was just about to turn back when Rupert caught me by the elbow.
"Just listen to that," he said, and, keeping my coat gripped in his right hand, he rapped with the knuckles of his left on the shutters of the basement window. His air was so definite that I paused and even inclined my head for a moment towards it. From inside was coming the murmur of an unmistakable human voice.
"Have you been talking to somebody inside?" I asked, suddenly, turning to Rupert.
"No, I haven't," he replied, with a grim smile, "but I should very much like to. Do you know what somebody is saying in there?"
"No, of course not" I replied.
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