Some one struck a vicious blow against the heavy door.
Blenheim's voice, hoarse and muffled, reached us through the panels.
"Can you hear me there?" it asked.
If tones could kill! I summoned breath enough to answer with cheerful
coolness.
"Every syllable," I responded. "What did you wish to say?"
"Just this." He was panting, either with exhaustion or fury, and there
were slow, labored pauses between his words. "I will give you half an
hour, exactly, to come out--with the papers. After that we will break
the door down. And then you can say your prayers."
CHAPTER XXII
THE GUEST OF PREZELAY
The sanctuary into which we had stumbled was as black as Erebus save for
one dimly grayish patch, which, I surmised, meant a window. When those
heavy feet had clumped down the staircase, silence enveloped us again,
beatific silence. Instantly I banished the late Mr. Van Blarcom from my
consciousness. With a good stout door between us what importance had his
threats?
The truth was that my blood was singing through my veins and my spirits
were soaring.
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