“All right,” said she.  “All right.  I’ll come down.  I wonder who can have put you in there now!  It’s one of those young rascals from over the way, I expect.  They are always up to something.  Don’t you worry yourself; I’m coming!”

Her tone had become so reassuring that Max began to wonder whether the old woman might not be more innocent of the trick which had been played upon him than he had supposed.  This impression increased when Mrs. Higgs went on: 

“Why didn’t you holloa out when you found yourself inside?”

“It wouldn’t have been of much use,” retorted Max.  “I thumped on the door and made noise enough to wake the city.”

“Well, I thought I heard a knock, some time ago,” said Mrs. Higgs, who seemed still in no hurry to fulfill her promise of coming down.  “But I thought it was nothing of any consequence, as I didn’t hear it again.”

“Where were you then?” To himself he added:  “You old fool!”

“Eh?” said Mrs. Higgs.

Max repeated the question.

“Well, first I was downstairs, and then I came up here.”

At last Max saw in the old woman’s lackluster eyes a spark of malice.

“You’re coming to open the door now?” asked he.

“All right,” said she.

Down went the trap-door, and the light and the old woman disappeared together.  Max wished he had asked for a candle, although he doubted whether his request would have been complied with.

And at the end of another five minutes, which seemed like hours, he began to have other and graver doubts.  He had gone back to his former place near the door, and he stood waiting, with more and more eagerness, more and more anxiety, for the promised appearance of Mrs. Higgs.

Surely, slow as her steps might be, she could have got down by this time.

He grew restless, uneasy.  The old suspicions—­which her appearance and the artful simplicity of her manner had allayed—­rose up in his mind with fresh vigor.  And, to add to his anxiety, he suddenly remembered the pretext Carrie had given to try to get him into the front room.

She had told him there were things of hers in there which she wanted.  He had believed her, at least, implicitly.  But now he knew that her pretext was a lie.  She also, therefore, had been an accomplice in the plot to get him into this room.

As this thought came into his mind, he heard again the creaking of the boards, and this time it was accompanied by another sound, faint, intermittent, but unmistakable—­the sound of the splashing of water close to his feet.

Turning quickly to the door, he raised his fist and brought it upon the boards with a sounding crash; at the same time he shouted for “Help!” with all the strength of his lungs.  He repeated the blow, the cry.

Again he heard, when he paused to listen, the faint splashing of the water, the creaking of the boards behind him.  Then, just as he raised his hand for one more blow on the door, he felt it open a very little, pushing him back.