Posts were offered to all who chose to accept them. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. Brutes! They are the brute still with us! Science some day may teach us a way to do without them. ‘I do not believe you. Wood. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as the painting was turned towards him. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring.
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