Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. “My hand! This isn’t the place. ” Meddoes turned round from the table on which he was practising shots and shrugged his shoulders. "The manager says there is still some doubt. ” “It’s dreadful for you to be here,” he said, indicating the yellow presence of the first fog of the year without, “but your aunt told me something of what had happened. Here, it might be anything at all. ” “I’ll frame it—when I get it. Aware of the cunning and desperate characters of the persons with whom she would have to deal,—aware, also, that she was in a quarter where no laws could be appealed to, nor assistance obtained, she felt the absolute necessity of caution. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost.
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