CHAPTER VIII. “We have to get in, I think,” said a nice little old lady in a bonnet to Ann Veronica, speaking with a voice that quavered a little. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly. A young man was playing the banjo. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. But finding all continue silent, he cautiously lifted the latch, and crept into the room, resolved to punish the offender in case his suspicions should prove correct. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart.
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