Beaumaroy set
him softly on the floor of the passage. "If you stir or speak, I'll
strangle you!" he whispered. There was enough light from the passage lamp
to enable the Sergeant to judge, by the expression of his face, that he
spoke sincerely. The Sergeant did not dare even to rub his throat, though
it was feeling very sore and uncomfortable.
There was a row of pegs on the passage wall, just inside the door. On
them, among hats, caps, and coats--and also Mr. Saffron's gray
shawl--hung two long neck-scarves, comforters that the keen heath winds
made very acceptable on a walk. Beaumaroy took them, and tied his
prisoner hand and foot. He had just completed this operation, in the
workmanlike fashion which he had learnt on service, when he heard a
footstep on the stairs. Looking up, he saw Doctor Mary standing there.
Her waiting in the room above had seemed long to her. Her ears had been
expecting the sound of Beaumaroy's tread as he mounted the stairs, laden
with his burden. That sound had not come; instead, there had been the
soft, just audible, plop of the Sergeant's body as it dropped on the
floor of the passage.
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