The gong will go at seven-thirty. For Melusine was on him again, the point of her sword lunging so that he backed up onto the dais. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. Something happened down there, and probably I'll never know what.
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