DIANA: And I still might!
The second floor had doors only on the left—which had, of course, on the floor below, been their right. There was once again a window at the end of the hall, this time overlooking the street. Either it had no shutters or they were open, for it let in just enough moonlight to see by. Once again, there were three doors.
The first room was empty. Just as Diana was about to pick the lock of the second door, she heard a faint moaning from the door at the end of the hall. As silently as she could, she ran to the third door and picked the lock. The room had one window, through which moonlight shone into the room. In the farthest corner sat Beatrice. Her wrists and ankles were tied together with rope, and there was a piece of cloth tied across her mouth. Across the room from her, beneath the window, lay a girl who was moaning and moving slightly, as though in her sleep.
And there were other sounds, coming through the floor: downstairs, someone was shouting. Whatever was happening down there had begun.
Diana stepped into the room, but immediately stepped out again. A sweet odor wafted out after her, as though the room contained a wonderful garden.
“Don’t breathe that!” she told Charlie. “It’s Beatrice’s poison. Here, do you have a handkerchief about you?”
Charlie produced a large, rough handkerchief from his trouser pocket and handed it to her.
“Open the window,” she said, pointing to the one at the end of the hall. He nodded and ran to open it. How nice it was to have someone who, when you told him to do something, just did it—without arguing!
Diana put the handkerchief over her mouth, ran into the room, and struggled with the rusted latch of the window. It took her a few minutes, and finally she had to drop the handkerchief so she could use both hands. The air was so sweet, so fragrant. All she wanted to do was sit down, breathe it in, remain in that garden forever. With a final tug, she opened the latch and pushed the window panes outward. Fresh air! She breathed deeply.
She grabbed the girl on the floor and lifted her to the window as best she could, with her arms around the girl’s chest. The girl was not heavy, but she was as limp as a sack of grain.
“Come on, breathe!” said Diana. The girl was not dead, not yet, although she was barely breathing. When she breathed in the fresh air, she began coughing—rough, hacking coughs that shook her body. It was difficult for Diana to hold her up, but she propped the girl’s body on the windowsill and held her there, with her head outside the window.
“What can I do, miss?” asked Charlie. There was no need to whisper now: they could hear shouts coming from downstairs, and a loud crash. What was happening? But there was no time to wonder.
“Help Beatrice,” said Diana.
Keeping the girl propped on the windowsill, she turned her head—Charlie had taken a knife out of his pocket and was cutting the strip of cloth over Beatrice’s mouth, the ropes on her wrists and ankles.
“Oh, I’m so happy to see you!” said Beatrice. “Quick, let me out into the hall so I’m no longer poisoning this room! That poor girl . . .”
“Lean on me, miss,” said Charlie, holding out his hand.
“No, my touch will burn.” Beatrice helped herself up against the wall, then stumbled past him toward the door.
The girl was leaning out the window, drawing fresh air into her lungs.
“Come on,” said Diana. “You’re going to be all right. We have to get you downstairs. Can you walk?” The girl nodded.
“Charlie!” Diana said. “Can you get her out of the house?”
“Sure,” said Charlie. “Come on, miss. You lean on me and I’ll get you out of here. We’ll have to go down the stairs to the front door. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded again, weakly.
“I’ll go first,” said Diana. “We don’t know what’s happening down there.”
From downstairs, they could hear the murmur of voices, but just as they reached the doorway, a shot rang out.
“What’s happening? Where are Mary and Catherine?” asked Beatrice.
“Down there,” said Diana. “The man who made the beasts—the Beast Men, I mean—he’s going to operate on Justine. Take out her brain and replace it. They’re down there with Watson and Holmes. They have guns. They must have shot someone. Come on, Charlie will get you out—I have to go help them.”
“I’m going with you,” said Beatrice.
Diana nodded. She and Beatrice ran down the hall, their boots clattering on the floor and then clanging on the metal stairs. But they could not worry about the noise now. As Diana reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked up. Charlie was supporting the girl, who stumbled beside him. “All clear!” Diana called up. The hallway was empty. Whatever was happening, it was happening in the office at the end of the hallway. The door to the office was open: a rectangle of light lay across the floor.
“Listen!” said Beatrice. “What is that?” They could hear the most infernal sounds, a cacophony of shouts, screams, and roars, as though a menagerie had been let loose. Then, more shots! They looked at each other with fear in their eyes and ran to the rectangle of light.
DIANA: There was no fear in my eyes!
BEATRICE: Well, there certainly was in mine.
The sight that greeted them through the open door was horrific beyond belief. A menagerie had indeed been let loose: standing by the door of the cage was the madman Renfield. The Beast Men were out—all but one. That one was pacing back and forth, still behind the closed door of the cage.