Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. 1715. That’s— that’s my private life. Ah Cum before the day was over, slyly baiting him. ‘What did you tell Valade?’ ‘Well, when I asked him what he wanted, he told me straight out that he had been told his wife was related to Jarvis Remenham, and he had come to see whoever lived here now that Jarvis was dead. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. Her back arched slightly in response. He was consumed with desire. A faint anticipation of triumph showed in his manner and a subdued excitement. ” He was obviously puzzled.
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