Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. By George, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in the office and that I could have it. Just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention, it was again shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of Mr. "Saved!" "Ay, ay, it's all bob, my covey! You're safe enough, that's certain!" responded the Minters, baying, yelping, leaping, and howling around him like a pack of hounds when the huntsman is beating cover; "but, where are the lurchers?" "Who?" asked Wood. And rather unscrupulous.
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