He couldn't have taken Mr. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. ” “Sure thing, kid. “To the young man himself,” he answered, “no! I simply object to his calling here two or three times a week during my absence. Then I tucked it nice and snug under the saddle-bag. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. To her consternation, the sound drew her great-aunt’s attention and she threw out a hand. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently.
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