She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. “If he is not here now I can make myself safe. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. "We've no time for any Bedlam scenes now. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. ’ ‘Compel me? You do not know me, monsieur. The fellow is little better than a lunatic. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte.
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