Jack had well-nigh fallen too. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. Gazing at her with eyes blinded with tears, he imprinted one brotherly kiss upon her lips. It was the first—and the last!
At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance.
"What's the matter?" he cried. "I thought I heard a scream. Why is the door fastened? Open it directly!"
"Are you alone?" asked Jack, mimicking the voice of Kneebone.
"What for?" demanded Wood. "Open the door, I say, or I'll burst it open."
Carefully depositing Winifred on a sofa, Jack then extinguished the light, and, as he unfastened the door, crept behind it. In rushed Mr. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. He upset some one—probably Mr. Bird,—who was rushing up stairs, alarmed by Mr. Wood's cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street.
And thus he was once more free, having effected one of the most wonderful escapes ever planned or accomplished.