He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. On examining the door, he found it secured by a large rusty lock, which he endeavoured to pick with the nail he had just acquired; but all his efforts proving ineffectual, he removed the plate that covered it with the bar, and with his fingers contrived to draw back the bolt. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest.
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