"What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. . The walls were bare, and painted in stone-colour; the floors, devoid of carpet; the beds, of hangings; the windows, of blinds; and, excepting in the thief-taker's own audience-chamber, there was not a chair or a table about the premises; the place of these conveniences being elsewhere supplied by benches, and deal-boards laid across joint-stools. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. She rang again with the same result. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. 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.
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