Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his mustache. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. Perhaps it was loneliness. “I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you. Quilt Arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing the captive boy was moored. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. Kneebone he's not here. The latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room.
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