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" "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. He glanced at Miss Klegg again, and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. " "He'll be hanged nevertheless," replied the Hollander, giving his collar an ugly jerk. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. ‘May I, indeed? I’ll take you up on that. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. From all angles he was at a disadvantage—in weight, skill, endurance. Ann Veronica was not ready enough to deal with that counter-stroke. She was listed for the raid—she was informed it was to be a raid upon the House of Commons, though no particulars were given her—and told to go alone to 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, and not to ask any policeman to direct her. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. He then said that if she would not obey him in this course she should “never darken his doors again,” and was, indeed, frightfully abusive.
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