Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Smith's melody had subsided. Reconnoitring them through a small grated loophole, he refused to open the door till they had explained their business. It would not have interested him in the least to learn that the tub ran on two powers—wind and oil. Earles declared good-humouredly, “but I shall not let you go without drinking a glass of wine to our success. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin.
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