The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. “You mustn’t say anything more to your mother, Michelle. ‘Oh, peste. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it.
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