" "Well, well, I'm not within a minute," rejoined the turnkey. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. And don't neglect my instructions this time. And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door.
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