"As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. "Come along, my sly shaver. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. Seeing provisions in the window, Jack ventured in and bought a loaf.
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