His grip twisted her wrist. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. "Well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied Wood; "and, by way of changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong waters for consolation, Joan. I'll try to think better of him in future. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs.
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