The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. “Pump, pump, per-um-pump, Pum, Pump, Per-um. " "Yes. I just don’t know where to start. It was locked. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order.
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