He wished he had the time to solve this riddle, for it was a riddle, and four-square besides. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. He found a coach at the door, with the blinds carefully drawn up, and ascertained from a tall, ill-looking, though tawdrily-dressed fellow, who held his horse by the bridle, and whom he addressed as Quilt Arnold, that the two boys were safe inside, in the custody of Abraham Mendez, the dwarfish Jew. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong.
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