For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. Kneebone's habitation, the shutters of which were closed, and knocked at the door. Saws, hammers, planes, axes, augers, adzes, chisels, gimblets, and an endless variety of tools were ranged, like a stand of martial weapons at an armoury, in racks against the walls. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. I want to leave Paris to-day. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. “Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still.
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