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It was wonderful. Monsieur is going inside perhaps?” But Sir John’s eyes were still riveted upon the poster, and his heart was beating with unaccustomed force. He was not used to not getting his way. “Call it warning, if you like. But be very careful not to let him know. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. But McClintock's mind was perceptive, whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. The completest capitulation would not wipe out that trouble.
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