— — —There was a high-set window in the room, through which the voices of the people in the next apartment floated plainly.
“The prisoner is in there,” whispered Mr. Matchwell; “you will hear him speak — listen carefully and hear if any of you recognise his voice. Remember,” added the superintendent sternly, “how much depends on this.”
“And little reliance you’ll give to any of us, I suppose, unless it suits you,” muttered Mrs. Bulke insolently.
Belle stepped up to the detective, and speaking to him as if they were equals in authority and intelligence and the others vastly inferior, she whispered:
“Would not emotion, fear, and agitation, and indignation much alter a voice, Mr. Matchwell?”
“Maybe, ma’am, but the gentleman is quite calm now; he certainly has been furious — almost beside
