“It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. ” “Who are you?” “I am a friend of Miss Pellissier’s,” Courtlaw answered. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. Winny, show the person into this room. But I had to know for sure. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard.
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