Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle. And now YOU’RE on the war-path. Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. “Do you want to ruin me? I shall walk back.
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