... Cleek's brain ran on
ahead of his feet, his brows drew themselves into a knot, his mouth was
like a thin line of crimson in the granite-like mask of his face.
Of a sudden he stopped and pointed ahead of him. Still another flight of
stairs met their eyes, but they were of newer, more recent make, and
composed of common deal, unvarnished and mudstained with the marks of
many feet up and down their surface.
Cleek drew a deep breath, and his face relaxed.
"The end of the journey, Dollops," he said softly.
Then, without more ado, he mounted the stairs, and laid his shoulder to
the heavy door.
CHAPTER XXVI
JUSTICE--AND JUSTIFICATION
The court room was crowded on every side. There was barely space for
another person to enter in comfort, and when the news went round in the
street that Sir Nigel Merriton, late of the army, was being tried for his
life, and that things were going pretty black against him, all London
seemed to turn out with a morbid curiosity to hear the sentence of death
passed.
Petrie, stationed at the door, spent most of his time waving a
white-gloved hand, and shaking his head until he felt that it would
shortly tumble off his neck and roll away upon the pavement.
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