He laughed, evidently pleased. “Gad, you do keep it up!” he cried.
So to a great pile of flats; up a circular stair.
“You understand why I can't use the lift?” he said. “They're beastly particular here.”
She did not understand; supposed it was some question of expense. Thus to a door where he took out a latch-key.
It was then for the first moment that a sudden doubt, a horror, took her, trembling her limbs.
She looked up at the figures painted over the door.
“Why, it is the wrong number!” she cried.
He had turned the key. “Lord! you do keep it up!” he laughed, his hand suddenly about her arm.
Then she knew, and dragged back, sweating with the horror of the thing.
“Ah, let me go—let me go!”