Only a book detective could dope this out. “I killed him. ‘Never fear, my love. I don’t know. He's got the gift of the gab. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. \"Thanks for lending me the clothes. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size.
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