Listen!" A door slammed above their heads.

Some one had left the music gallery.
"Hunterleys himself!" Selingman cried.
"Sure!" Richard assented.

"Bright fellow, Selingman," he continued amiably.

"I wouldn't try that on, if I were you," he added, turning to Mr.Grex, whose hand was slowly stealing from the back of his coat.
"That sort of thing doesn't do, nowadays.

Revolvers belong to the last decade of intrigue.