‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Earles recovered his spirits. . Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. S. ” He extended his hand. She entered the last room, his bedroom. " "That he is," added Blueskin, approvingly. "Enough's as good as a feast. I presume that you have been living alone?” She sighed gently.
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