There were three exit doors. Profoundly. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. ’ ‘Do you care to test that theory?’ Gerald suggested easily. “Hill gradually recovering consciousness. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out. ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. Sir James Thornhill's preparations being completed, Mr.
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