But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. Great stone staircases leading no one knew whither, and long gloomy passages, impressed the occasional visitor with the idea that he was traversing a building of vast extent; and, though this was not the case in reality, the deception was so cleverly contrived that it seldom failed of producing the intended effect. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. The man or woman who did something for nothing always excited his suspicions; they were playing some kind of a game. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers.
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