Drawing a pistol, and unclosing his lantern with the quickness of thought, he then burst through an open trap-door into a small loft. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. There was a black fear in his heart. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat.
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