The Club of Queer Trades
"Then I recommend you to listen," said Rupert, sharply.
In the dead silence of the aristocratic street at evening, I stood a moment and listened. From behind the wooden partition, in which there was a long, lean crack, was coming a continuous and moaning sound which took the form of the words: "When shall I get out? When shall I get out? Will they ever let me out?" or words to that effect.
"Do you know anything about this?" I said, turning upon Rupert very abruptly.
"Perhaps you think I am the criminal," he said, sardonically, "instead of being in some small sense the detective. I came into this area two or three minutes ago, having told you that I knew there was something funny going on, and this woman behind the shutters (for it evidently is a woman) was moaning like mad. No, my dear friend, beyond that I do not know anything about her. She is not, startling as it may seem, my disinherited daughter or a member of my secret seraglio. But when I hear a hu-
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