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Updated: May 25, 2025
They reached their destination some time before Dory, whose horse fell down in the Strand, and who had to walk. They ascended to the fourth floor of the building and rang the bell of Vincent Cawdor's room no answer. They plied the knocker no result. Rounceby peered through the keyhole. "He hasn't come home yet," he remarked. "There is no light anywhere in the place."
"A tremendous character of wonderful strength. It was just such proud, dark, purposeful souls that Byron delighted to draw; but the only one in literature to whom I can fully liken her is the wife of Macbeth. There was the same ambition the same ruthless will the same disregard of everything that stood in her way. And, like Cawdor's wife, she weakened in the end." She regarded him fixedly.
Three o'clock struck by the little timepiece on the mantel shelf. A little exclamation of a profane nature broke from Rounceby's lips. He leaned toward his companion. "Say," he muttered, in a rather thick undertone, "how about this fellow Vincent Cawdor? You haven't any doubts about him, I suppose? He's on the square, all right, eh?" Marnstam wet his lips nervously. "Cawdor's all right," he said.
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