He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. “Great!” Cathy squealed. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. Afterwards we started for a motor ride to a place outside Paris for déjeuner, and I suppose the man’s nerve failed him. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. She had nothing to say for herself. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. She looked away. "Never—never!" The words were scarcely pronounced, when the door was violently thrown open, and two men appeared at it. You have been seen loitering with suspicious intent in several places—Paddington, for instance—and I have no doubt at all that you were party to a break-in last week at Remenham House in Kent. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light.
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