Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. "My worst fears are realized. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. "But why didn't you make yourself known at once?" "I'd forgotten the office you hold in the Mint, Baptist," replied Rowland. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. The hurricane had now reached its climax. " "Follow me, then," cried Thames, drawing his sword, and springing through the window. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key.
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