"Thoroughly."
"Depend upon him, then, for the needful. Peterssen will bite."
"And if he does not?"
"Crawley, the keeper. Remember what Sophy overheard him say. If he had a hundred pounds he would cut the cursed concern, and go to America. Emphatic--and doubtless true. Two birds to shoot at. Peterssen missed, Crawley remains. Aim well, bring him down."
"To-morrow morning, early, we will resume work, Bob."
"The earlier the better. Good-night."
[CHAPTER LIII.]
THE PORTRAIT OF GERALD PAGET.
At nine o'clock next morning Bob, Sophy, and I breakfasted together. Sophy's fears were abated, although she had not quite got over her fright. During breakfast I succeeded in dispelling it completely by imparting to her, in confidence, the opinion we had formed that M. Felix was alive, and that it was his veritable self, and not his ghost, she had seen on the previous night. She listened with her mouth and eyes wide open.
"You heard him speak, Sophy?" She nodded. "Ghosts can't speak. He caught hold of you; he lifted you up; you felt his touch?" She nodded again. "Ghosts can't touch; they can't make you feel them; they are made of air, Sophy; you can walk right through them. Be easy in your mind. If it was M. Felix you saw"--she nodded again two or three times--"then he is alive, and we intend to hunt him down."