‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house.
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