At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. If he stayed in the basement apartment as was his usual habit, she would have no problem. Sheppard was unwillingly compelled to listen.
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