Even Lizzie's eyes were now
fixed on the locked closet. And the Unknown himself was the first
to notice this.
At once his expression altered to one of cunning--cautiously, with
infinite patience, he began to inch his chair over toward the wicker
clothes hamper. The noise of the others, moving about the room,
drowned out what little he made in moving his chair.
At last he was within reach of the revolver. His hand shot out in
one swift sinuous thrust--clutched the weapon--withdrew. He then
concealed the revolver among his tattered garments as best he could
and, cautiously as before, inched his chair back again to its
original position. When the others noticed him again, the mask of
lifelessness was back on his face and one could have sworn he had
not changed his position by the breadth of an inch.
"There--that unlocked it!" cried Miss Cornelia triumphantly at last,
as the key to one of the other closet doors slid smoothly into the
lock and she heard the click that meant victory.
She was about to throw open the closet door. But Bailey motioned
her back.
"I'd keep back a little," he cautioned. "You don't know what may
be inside."
"Mercy sakes, who wants to know?" shivered Lizzie. Dale and Miss
Cornelia, too, stepped aside involuntarily as Bailey took the candle
and prepared, with a good deal of caution, to open the closet door.
The door swung open at last. He could look in. He did so--and
stared appalled at what he saw, while goose flesh crawled on his
spine and the hairs of his head stood up.
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