As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. This spike is more than half cut through. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet.
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