There was a moment's silence after this, and Haight, fearing some accident had happened, stepped out into the hall and stood there a moment listening again; his head inclined toward the closed door.

He heard no groaning, no exclamations of pain, not even any noise of conversation; only through the closed door came a steady sound of barking.
Puzzled, he tried the door and, finding it locked, as he had expected, put one foot upon the knob and, catching hold of the top jamb, raised himself up and looked down through the open space that answered for a transom.
The room was very warm, the air thick with the smell of cooked food, the fumes of whisky, and the acrid odour of cigar smoke.

Ellis had rolled from his chair and lay upon the floor sprawling on his face in the wreck of the table.

Near to him, likewise upon the floor, but sitting up, his back against the wall, was the Dummy.

He was muttering incessantly to himself, as if delighted at having found his tongue, his head swaying on his shoulders, and a strange murmur, soft, birdlike, meaningless, like sounds heard from a vast distance, coming from his wide-open mouth.
Vandover was sitting bolt upright in his chair, his hands gripping the table, his eyes staring straight before him.