CHAPTER XXIII.

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF DIANA WARD

Was it guesswork? Was it sheer deduction? Was it knowledge? These three questions flashed through Larry’s mind, but before he could ask her any further questions, John Dearborn had come from the cubicle and was feeling his way down the stairs.

On the next landing he opened the door of a dormitory which Larry had seen before. It consisted of three rooms which had been knocked into one at some previous period.

Obedient to Larry’s instructions, the two detectives did not follow the party in. One strolled down and took his place on the lower landing; the other sat upon the stairs that led to the cubicles above and waited.

“Is it light?” asked Dearborn as he walked into the inner room.

“Quite light,” said Larry.

“I am told there is rather a good view from this window,” said Dearborn, and pointed unerringly to a view which was neither picturesque nor extensive.

Larry did not reply. It was possibly a polite fiction that the views from the Home were lovely, and he did not desire to hurt, even in the slightest degree, the man who was so proud of a prospect which included six roofs and a hundred chimney pots.

“Is the window closed? I think it is,” said John Dearborn. “Will you open it for me?”

Larry pulled up the noisy sash, and a breath of cool, sweet air came into the stuffy dormitory.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Dearborn. “Now, perhaps the young lady----”

Larry was looking about the room. The girl was not in sight. He walked quickly to the door and the officer on duty stood up from the stairs on which he had been sitting.

“Which way did Miss Ward go?”

“She didn’t come out, sir,” said the man in surprise. “She went in the room with you.”

Larry stared at him.

“Didn’t come out?” he repeated in amazement. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure.”

He called to the man on the lower landing:

“Did you see Miss Ward?”

“No, sir,” said the officer, “she hasn’t come out of that door. I can see it plainly from here, and I haven’t taken my eyes off it.”

Larry went back into the room. It was empty. There were half a dozen plain iron beds, but there was no place of concealment save a cupboard which stood against the wall opposite the fireplace. He was in a panic, and his heart was beating wildly as no danger to himself could have made it beat.

He pulled open the cupboard door. It was empty except for some old clothing which was hanging on a line of pegs. He flung these out and struck the back of the cupboard. It was solid.

“Have you found the young lady?” asked Dearborn presently.

“No, I have not,” said Larry quickly. “Is there any other way out of this room but these doors?”

The clergyman shook his head.

“No,” he said in astonishment. “Why do you ask? Oh, perhaps you are thinking we should have a means of egress in case of fire. We have been thinking over that matter----”

Larry was white of face, and he was trembling. He called in one of the police officers.

“You will remain in this room until you are relieved,” he said. Then he summoned the other. “Call Scotland Yard in my name and tell them I want twenty plain-clothes men here at once. There’s a constable on point duty at the end of Lissom Grove. Bring him here and station him outside the house.”

“What has happened?” demanded the Rev. Dearborn anxiously. “These are the only times when my malady distresses me, when I feel that I cannot help.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you went to your study,” said Larry gently. “I am afraid a crime has been committed under my very eyes.”

How could it have happened? He had heard no sound. He thought the girl was behind him. He knew she had gone into the room because he had pushed her in before him; he remembered that distinctly. He remembered her turning to the left to inspect the lower end of the room when he had gone to open the window--that was when it happened!

When he had pulled up the window he had made a noise which had drowned any sound which may have occurred at the farther end of the room. But it had all passed so quickly, and she had not left the room.

He began a systematic examination of the walls, looking for secret doorways. The coconut matting on the floor was pulled up, but without result. Diana Ward had disappeared as though an earthquake had swallowed her, as though she had dissolved into minutest atoms and had floated out of the window in invisible vapour.