Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. You are somebody’s secretary, are you not?” It was plain that the subject was distasteful to her, but Ennison, although famous in a small way for his social tact, did not at once discard it. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. Jonathan aimed a blow at him, which, if it had taken place, must have instantly terminated the strife; but, avoiding this, he sprang at the thief-taker, and grappled with him. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. You will have lots of time on your hands. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room.
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