“May I hear?” “It really isn’t much to tell,” Drummond answered. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. She covered herself with her arms. Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him. Beyond the hatch, an angle, formed by a projection in the wall of some three or four feet, served to hide a door conducting to the interior of the prison. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told.
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