His voice now had lost its ironies. The thought of the picture but added to her despondency. But she was not there. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. ’ A sudden thought brought a frown to her brow. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. At this moment, Davies, who had completed his preparations, extinguished the torch. ’ ‘I chose to come with you, miss,’ Jack interrupted more firmly.
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