She felt this was the sensible way out of this oddly sinister situation. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. For a time I must do journalism and work hard. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. “So Lucy, I hear that you are quite the violin player. Fool that I was to part with my lantern! But I'll soon set myself straight. But no; she must step warily. “Get me some brandy and my bag. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. They were sharp and dripping with black blood. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout.
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