Explore "The Ringer" by Edgar Wallace on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
ONCE or twice during the hour of strenuous work which followed, he heard Sam Hackitt's stealthy feet on the stairs, and once caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared in a hurry. When he came down it was nearly seven o'clock. Sam, very businesslike in his green baize apron, with a pail of water and a wash--leather in his hand, was industriously cleaning the windows, somewhat hampered by the bars.
"How is he, sir?" he asked.