Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. That was something in his favour. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. People were passing in the street below. . She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere.
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