She rapped again, louder. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. As Jonathan scarcely expected a more satisfactory result, he made no comment; but, ordering Quilt to continue his search, and not to return until he had found the fugitive, called Abraham Mendez into the house, and shut the door. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. You’ll end there one day, mark my words.
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