Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. She seemed to assume that it must certainly be something she had said. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. Taking the opposite course from that which he had hitherto pursued when it has been necessary to attend him in his visits to the lower part of his premises, he struck into a narrow passage on the right, which he tracked till he came to a small door, like the approach to a vault.
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