The onlooker started where he stood and gave a low whistle. What strange company was lodged in this deserted spot, that smoke should be rising from two of its broken chimneys? The next moment he thought--Could it be possible that Darda was trapped and imprisoned by the fall in her gruesome museum? He uttered an exclamation, waded from his covert, and with some difficulty gained the back entrance to the building. Here, through a chink--for the door stood ajar--a fine smell of stewing meat, that was mightily grateful to his nostrils, was wafted to him. He paused an instant in indecision, then conscious of a little squirm of fear, he rated himself for a coward, kicked off the snow that clogged his heels, pushed at the panels, and entering, came to a stop in the passage beyond. All was quiet as the grave--nothing but the pleasant humming sound of a fire burning in its grate hard by. Not condescending to so much as step softly, he strode down the familiar passage, and came to where the doors of the two sitting-rooms met him on either hand. “Who’s here?” he cried, striving to read the gloom, for, from whatever cause, the place was dark as a well. With the words on his lips, he was aware of a sound--suppressed laughter--a little scuffle. Not knowing whither to turn, he struck out blindly anywhere on the instant--recoiled, and in a moment his arms were caught in vicious hands, and there came a great noise of feet and voices all about him. Feeling the utter futility of effort for the time being, he submitted to his unseen captors. “Light!” cried a little thin voice. The front door was unbolted and flung open, and a weak radiance of sunshine broke into the passage. Then all around him Tuke saw a nightmare of jeering faces (one even looked through a great gap in the ceiling above his head), and a babble of hoarse laughter rattled the very ribs of the crazy tenement. CHAPTER XLIII. “This, gentlemen,” said Mr. Tuke, “is a quite overpowering welcome.” He saw surrounding him a very choice variety of villainous faces--perhaps a dozen types in all; but, if his blood ran cold, he had a lofty fancy to attribute it to the weather. “And why am I detained in this forcible manner,” he said, “when I come to visit my own lodge?” A second little griding of laughter was his response. “Here be a mouching toff,” croaked one of the rascals that held him. “Give us the griffin, l’utenant,” quoth another hoarsely. “Stow your cursed babble!” yawped a voice that the captive recognized; “and tie his hands behind him.” He had not been able to suppress a start at the tones, though he cursed himself for his weakness; but now he looked forward cool and steady as the speaker faced him. “Oh, Mr. Brander!” he said--“so you captain this amiable company? I see, I see.” “Why, sir,” said the pedagogue sourly, “you may have stumbled through the fifth proposition and yet lack penetration. I have not the honour to lead in this business.” “Will you answer me a question?”