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Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith), 1874-1936

"The Club of Queer Trades"

The room
within was entirely unlighted, so that for the first few seconds
the window seemed a dead and opaque surface, as dark as a strip of
slate. Then came a realization which, though in a sense gradual,
made us step back and catch our breath. Two large dim human eyes
were so close to us that the window itself seemed suddenly to be a
mask. A pale human face was pressed against the glass within, and
with increased distinctness, with the increase of the opening came
the words:
"When shall I get out?"
"What can all this be?" I said.
Rupert made no answer, but lifting his walking-stick and pointing
the ferrule like a fencing sword at the glass, punched a hole in
it, smaller and more accurate than I should have supposed possible.
The moment he had done so the voice spouted out of the hole, so to
speak, piercing and querulous and clear, making the same demand for
liberty.
"Can't you get out, madam?" I said, drawing near the hole in some
perturbation.
"Get out? Of course I can't," moaned the unknown female bitterly.
"They won't let me. I told them I would be let out. I told them
I'd call the police. But it's no good. Nobody knows, nobody comes.
They could keep me as long as they liked only--"
I was in the very act of breaking the window finally with my
stick, incensed with this very sinister mystery, when Rupert held
my arm hard, held it with a curious, still, and secret rigidity as
if he desired to stop me, but did not desire to be observed to do
so.


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