The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. This queer father of hers had given her everything but his arms. And not a worthy tome in sight. I wanted something alive. And if I hadn't been thirsty, that poor boob would have made a sure getaway and left James Boyle high and dry among the moth-balls! Oh, the old dome works once every so often. And I'll answer for it, she'll never say a syllable to annoy you again. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None.
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