"You've no objection to this, I suppose?" Thorn remarked, as he locked the door behind them.
"Certainly not," said Mr. Carleton, coolly, taking out the key and putting it in his pocket "my business is private it needs no witnesses."
"Especially as it so nearly concerns yourself," said Thorn, sneeringly.
"Which part of it, Sir?" said Mr. Carleton, with admirable breeding. It vexed, at the same time that it constrained Thorn.
"I'll let you know, presently!" he said, hurriedly proceeding to the lower end of the room, where some cabinets stood, and unlocking door after door in mad haste.
The place had somewhat the air of a study perhaps Thorn's private room. A long table stood in the middle of the floor, with materials for writing, and a good many books were about the room, in cases and on the tables, with maps, and engravings, and portfolio's, and a nameless collection of articles the miscellaneous gathering of a man of leisure and some literary taste.
Their owner presently came back from the cabinets with tokens of a very different kind about him.
"There, Sir!" he said, offering to his guest a brace of most inhospitable-looking pistols "take one, and take your stand, as soon as you please nothing like coming to the point at once!"
He was heated and excited even more than his manner indicated. Mr. Carleton glanced at him, and stood quietly examining the pistol he had taken. It was already loaded.
"This is a business that comes upon me by surprise," he said, calmly. "I don't know what I have to do with this, Mr. Thorn."