"I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken. ” “And the people?” Brendon asked.
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