’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. He remembered it suddenly.
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