She entered the last room, his bedroom. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik.
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