"At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. A detective will be here in a few moments to make inquiries into this affair. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. "I've often heard of a secret door in this room, though I never saw it.
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