The Rat Trap
"Madame," he told her boldly, "I shall never forget Mam'selle Delphine of the Inn of the Winged God; as to Madame la Grand Duchesse, I have yet to meet her."
"Ah, monsieur, but you are generous. Thank you, thank you."
The woman turned, lifted the knocker on the door, and let it fall thrice: presumably a signal agreed upon between her and her companions. The thunder of the metal resounded emptily through the house, but in response there was no other sound. Again she repeated the alarm, and again was doomed to disappointment.
"Why, I do not understand," she cried petulantly. "Surely they understood me; they were to wait."
The Irishman stepped to her side and tried the knob; under his hand it turned, the door opening easily inward upon its hinges. Madame stepped back with a little cry of alarm.
"I do not understand," she reiterated.
"Something frightened them, possibly," O'Rourke reassured her. "One moment. Do ye wait while I strike ye a light."
He crossed the threshold, stepping into blank darkness, and heard the voice of madame.
"The lodge is lighted by electricity," she was telling him from her stand upon the doorsill. "There is a switch on the right-hand wall, near the window."
"Where did you say?" he inquired, groping about blindly.
"I will show you, monsieur."
She came into the room confidently. "Thank goodness!" exclaimed O'Rourke gratefully, fearful for his shins.
He heard her step beside him, and the swish of her skirt as she passed. Abruptly she cried out, as though in protest: "Monsieur, what do you mean?"
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