this, the superintendent bowed with his best grace, and resigned himself
to circumstances. "Pardon me if I keep you waiting for a minute or two,"
he said, and rang a bell.

A man-servant appeared at the door.

"Are Yarcombe and Foss on duty on the south side?" the superintendent
asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Send one of them here directly."

We waited a few minutes--and then a gruff voice became audible on the
outer side of the door. "Present, sir," growled the gruff voice.

The superintendent courteously offered his arm to my aunt. "Permit me to
escort you to Jack Straw," he said, with a touch of playful irony in his
tone.

We left the room. The lawyer and I followed my aunt and her escort. A
man, whom we found posted on the door-mat, brought up the rear. Whether
he was Yarcombe or whether he was Foss, mattered but little. In either
case he was a hulking, scowling, hideously ill-looking brute. "One of our
assistants," we heard the superintendent explain. "It is possible, madam,
that we may want two of them, if we are to make things pleasant at your
introduction to Jack Straw."

We ascended some stairs, shut off from the lower floor by a massive
locked door, and passed along some dreary stone passages, protected by