"Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. We're all safe!" "Don't lose a moment then," cried Jack, forcing himself into the aperture, while the Amazon, assisted by Bess, pulled him through it.
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