"The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. Having once more got into the chimney, he climbed to a level with the ward above, and recommenced operations as vigorously as before. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. If you live, well and good; if you die, well and good.
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