Near the body, which, it will be surmised, was that of Abraham Mendez, two ruffianly personages were seated, quietly smoking, and bestowing no sort of attention upon the new-comers. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. Politely Ah Cum stooped and recovered the photograph. He went over her features one by one in his mind. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. The impassivity of her features changed at last. On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search.
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