So the uncle of Elma Heath was "The Strangler of
Finland," the man who, in four years, had reduced a prosperous country
to a state of ruin and revolt!
"Cannot I see her?" I asked, feeling that we had remained too long
there. If my presence in that place was perilous the sooner I escaped
from it the better.
"Yes, come," she said. "But silence! Walk softly," and holding up the
old horn lantern to give me light, she led me out into the low stone
corridor again, conducting me through a number of intricate passages,
all bare and gloomy, the stones worn hollow by the feet of ages. On we
crept noiselessly past a number of low arched doors studded with big
nails in the style of generations ago, then turning suddenly at right
angles, I saw that we were in a kind of _cul de sac,_ before the door of
which at the end she stopped and placed her finger upon her lips. Then,
motioning me to remain there, she entered, closing the door after her,
and leaving me in the pitch darkness.
I strained my ears, but could hear no sound save that of someone moving
within.
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