5. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. . “Julian, I don’t know how to put this. Can you lend me some stuff?” “You ARE a chap!” said Constance, and warmed only slowly from the idea of dissuasion to the idea of help. “But I am judge of that,” said Manning. I received a telegram, as you know, during dinner. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. So far the thing was acceptable enough. Then she sang. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. He had, for the most part, been correct. Anyhow, there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarry would be for the next three weeks.
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