And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. Sheppard, anxiously. His heart hammered in his chest. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. He was followed by a great pile of black organs, hers, her female parts. Every gibbet at Tyburn and Hounslow appeared to have been plundered of its charnel spoil to enrich the adjoining cabinet, so well was it stored with skulls and bones, all purporting to be the relics of highwaymen famous in their day. E. Alban's to-night.
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