have allowed you to walk into such a death-trap as that crypt would have been without the safeguard we—that is, I—trusted to. It wasn’t a case for being too nice. There’s no such thing as taking a mean advantage of people threatening life and property, they told me when I was taught my trade.”
The man Benzon, who had kept his gaze fixed on the face of Cora Lestrade, removed it now, and, with a cool politeness that struck an unaccountable chill to most of his hearers, thanked the General for enlightening him on “a point of considerable importance,” and begged permission to depart if he was really not to be detained. At a sign from his master Azimoolah stood aside, and the man swung himself out of the window, gained a foothold on the ivy stems, and was gone. When they had all turned away from the darkling face framed for a moment among the creepers, it was seen that she who had loomed so largely in their lives of late as “Mr. Clinton Ziegler” and “Mrs. Talmage Eglinton” was swaying and about to fall.
“Thank you,” she said, recovering herself with a painful effort as Senator Sherman, who happened to be nearest, came to her assistance.
[319]
