Into this burrow the Commandant dived; and, standing outside, they heard a key turned in a lock.

He reappeared and beckoned to them.
"From the gallery here," he whispered, "you look right down into the Convalescent Ward." Through the iron bars of the gallery Dorothea caught a glimpse of a long bare room, with twenty or thirty dejected figures in suits and caps of greyish-blue flannel, huddled about a stove.

Some were playing at cards, others at dominoes.

The murmur of their voices ascended and hummed in the little passage.
"Hist! Your friend is below there, if you care to have a peep at him." But Dorothea had already drawn back.

All this spying and listening revolted her.