She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. ‘You are the one that I have met in London. I ought to stay the night through; but I'm late now for an operation at the hospital. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other.
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