"Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. As the secret door opened, the sounds within the house came at once to her ears: the tramping of feet above, and the hoarse voices echoing through the mansion. “Now isn’t this nice!” that lady exclaimed. They concern us all. ‘Not kill me, I mean. The affair was thick with sinister suggestions.
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