"I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. "From Mr. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. ” “It is within yours—if anybody’s,” he answered. ‘The place was full of barbers and military men. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women.
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