"Go on. Are you satisfied?’ Grudgingly, Jack Kimble took back the coins. I—well, I lost my temper. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. She was ushered into the back of the squad car. All at once he saw a way out of the threatening doldrums. She had never let off a pistol in her life.
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