“Lots of ‘em!” Capes chuckled. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. She walked through the walls. Some of them are now buried at the bottom of the Thames. "I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile.
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