Listening with thudding heart, Myra could hear no sound from the other
side of her locked and bolted door, and the handle did not move again.
Slipping out of bed after a few minutes, she stole noiselessly across
the room and, dropping on one knee, put her ear to the keyhole and
listened, but heard no sound save the throbbing of her own heart.

She could not have explained what she expected, hoped, or dreaded to
hear as she crouched there, straining her ears, but it was
characteristic of her that suddenly she laughed aloud.

"So he was conceited enough to think that I would leave my bedroom door
unlocked!" she whispered, as she went back to bed and switched off the
light. "What sort of girl does he take me for? I don't know whether
to feel insulted or amused... But I'm glad I didn't forget to lock and
bolt the door. I wonder..."

Myra snuggled her head down in her pillow, but scarcely had she closed
her eyes when there was a crash against her bedroom door, a shout, and
then a shot, and the sound of more shouting. She sprang up
convulsively, her hands pressed to her breast, screamed involuntarily,
then, recovering herself, switched on the lights, sprung out of bed,
unbolted and unlocked the door, and flung it open--to find Don Carlos
de Ruiz, clad in pyjamas and dressing gown, engaged in a desperate
struggle with a burly, fully-dressed stranger on the floor of the
corridor outside her room.