Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. "I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked.
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