He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Are you prepared to do it?” Her hands clenched. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. The night was now profoundly dark. But I've an old friend on the way here, and he knows the game down there.
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