‘What would you do in Valade’s place?’ ‘You mean, knowing that the girl was here and liable to queer my pitch?’ ‘Precisely. He pressed the long shapely hand warmly in his. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred.
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