Cristel dropped his book on the table, and hurried to me in breathless
surprise. "He speaks as if he knew you!" she cried. "What does it mean?"

"Only that I met him last night," I explained, "after leaving you."

"Did you know him before that?"

"No. He was a perfect stranger to me."

He picked up his book from the table, and took his pencil out of
Cristel's hand, while we were speaking. "I want my answer," he said,
handing me the book and the pencil. I gave him his answer.

"You find me here, because I don't wish to return to your side of the
house."

"Is that the impression," he asked, "produced by what I allowed you to
read?"

I replied by a sign in the affirmative. He inquired next if I had brought
his portfolio with me. I put it at once into his hand.

In some way unknown to me, I had apparently roused his suspicions. He
opened the portfolio, and counted the loose leaves of writing in it
carefully. While he was absorbed in this occupation, old Toller's
eccentricity assumed a new form. His little restless black eyes followed
the movements of his lodger's fingers, as they turned over leaf after
leaf of the manuscript, with such eager curiosity and interest that I
looked at him in surprise. Finding that he had attracted my notice, he