Spurlock advanced, the censer swung high. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms. Well aware that the doors in this passage were much stronger than those in the entry he had just quitted he was neither surprised nor dismayed to find it fastened by a lock of unusual size. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. “My God!” he said again. “Some afternoon.
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