On the threshold of the dungeon he paused for a moment; and turning towards the interior of that living tomb, he growled in a savage tone, "By all the powers of hell! I'll find means to cure you of this obstinacy."
A hoarse and stifled moan was the only answer.
"Then try another night of it!" exclaimed the Resurrection Man.
And he closed the door violently.
The heavy bolt grated upon the ears of another victim to the remorseless cruelty of this fiend-like miscreant!
Muttering maledictions to himself, the Resurrection Man slowly left the subterranean, and extinguishing his lantern, secured the doors of the lower part of his dwelling.
As he was about to ascend the steep staircase leading to the upper floor, a person in the street called after him in a low and tremulous tone, "Mr. Tidkins! Mr. Tidkins! is that you?"
"Rather so," replied the Resurrection Man, who had immediately recognised the voice; "walk up, Mr. Tomlinson."
"I—I—if you have no objection," stammered the stock-broker, who evidently had some cause of alarm, "I would much prefer—that is, I should like to speak to you down here; because my time is precious—and——"
"And you are afraid to trust yourself with me," added the Resurrection Man, gruffly. "Why, what an infernal fool you must be! I don't suppose that you've come with your pockets full of gold: and, if you haven't, you certainly ain't worth robbing and murdering. So, walk up, I say—and no more of this gammon. Shut the door, and bolt it after you."