Running down stairs, I quickly
stated my suspicions to the first person I met--the chamber-maid.
"La! la!" she cried, "I thought something must be the matter.
I went to make the bed after breakfast, and the door was locked;
and not a mouse to be heard; and it's been just so silent ever since.
But I thought, may be, you had both gone off and locked your
baggage in for safe keeping. La! La, ma'am!--Mistress! murder!
Mrs. Hussey! apoplexy!"--and with these cries she ran towards
the kitchen, I following.
Mrs. Hussey soon appeared, with a mustard-pot in one hand
and a vinegar-cruet in the other, having just broken away
from the occupation of attending to the castors, and scolding
her little black boy meantime.
"Wood-house!" cried I, "which way to it? Run for God's sake, and fetch
something to pry open the door--the axe!--the axe! he's had a stroke;
depend upon it!"--and so saying I was unmethodically rushing up stairs
again empty-handed, when Mrs. Hussey interposed the mustard-pot and
vinegar-cruet, and the entire castor of her countenance.
"What's the matter with you, young man?"
"Get the axe! For God's sake, run for the doctor, some one,
while I pry it open!"
"Look here," said the landlady, quickly putting down
the vinegar-cruet, so as to have one hand free; "look here;
are you talking about prying open any of my doors?"--
and with that she seized my arm.
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