She stared. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. ‘Why do you stand there? Take him up, and bring him out at once. ‘You’re not going to kill me this time. Then, if you are bad to me, I can more easily blow off your head.
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