"Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have directed him to go to the cloak-room. I have suffered all this. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. ’ Upon which, she darted through the library door, galvanising both the sergeant and his two militiamen into action.
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