” He waved the gun at Lucy who stepped back. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. 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. What has been the matter?” “Toothache,” he answered laconically. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. Your adoptive father understands mankind better.
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