"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 showed no signs of embarrassment—he seized the opportunity of asking for information.
"Did my gentleman trust you, sir, with all that writing?" he began.
"Yes."
"Did he want you to read it?"
"He did."
"What's it all about, sir?"
Confronted by this cool inquiry, I informed Mr. Toller that the demands of curiosity had their limits, and that he had reached them. On this ground, I declined to answer any more questions. Mr. Toller went on with his questions immediately.
"Do you notice, sir, that he seems to set a deal of store by his writings? Perhaps you can say what the value of them may be?"