Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. Here he found another strong door, making the fifth he had encountered. “You know what a fearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the whole world were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but he wouldn’t have any of it. ” “Surely,” he protested, “the change is all in favour of your own inclinations.
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