Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. The room was dark and dusty. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact. " "Sir," said the chief turnkey, indignantly. . .
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