"Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. “Curious case—and sets one thinking. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. "Well," she said, in reply, "I may have done Jack an injustice. Go and prepare for our departure. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside.
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