The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. . Her heavy pistol came up again, although she did not rise. In this spy theory, however, he had no faith whatsoever. ‘Do you know, Mademoiselle Charvill, you are a thought too clever for your own good. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. He had not had time to aim the pistol. "Sometimes a cup of lies is a cheering thing," replied the trader. ’ ‘Alone, miss?’ ‘Certainly alone. “Rubbish!” he answered. The walls were bare, and painted in stone-colour; the floors, devoid of carpet; the beds, of hangings; the windows, of blinds; and, excepting in the thief-taker's own audience-chamber, there was not a chair or a table about the premises; the place of these conveniences being elsewhere supplied by benches, and deal-boards laid across joint-stools. ’ There was a chuckle in his voice. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. ’ They moved to the door, while the lady shrugged, and then seated herself, glancing from the window into the street below, and then turning again to watch them in their huddle at the other side of the library.
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