The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. Quilt's manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. You make of me once more a game? Eh bien, I have told your friend that I will kill you, and if you will give me my dagger this minute, I shall do so at once. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative.
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