The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. Creeping stealthily up stairs, unmasking a dark lantern, and glancing into each room as he passed, he was startled in one of them by the appearance of Mrs. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. And the woollen-draper departed. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. CHAPTER IX. You are—horrible. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. with you.
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