“Alone with _us_.” Then, as from a deeper depth, “In charge,” she
added.
“And what became of him?”
She hung fire so long that I was still more mystified. “He went, too,”
she brought out at last.
“Went where?”
Her expression, at this, became extraordinary. “God knows where! He
died.”
“Died?” I almost shrieked.
She seemed fairly to square herself, plant herself more firmly to utter
the wonder of it. “Yes. Mr. Quint is dead.”