With a gesture which was without any kind of emotional expression, the manager indicated the silent crumpled figure on the floor and gave the room number. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. Ah, Thierry and Poussaint, if my memory serves me.
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