Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. I believe you’ve crushed a gland or something. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. But about dat jonker," he continued, lowering his voice; "have you anything to add consarnin' him? It's almosht a pity to put him onder de water. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it.
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