The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. We’d soon cool that temper of yours. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. There it was—to be borrowed. She gloried in it: he needed her. They began to wrestle fiercely. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts. I would not have him know—now—for the world. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face.
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