Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. “I have spoken too many truths to-night. Taking advantage of his embarrassed position, Jonathan and his assistant rushed upon him, and disarmed him. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. Satisfied, however, that she did not notice him, Jonathan glided away as noiselessly as he came, and ascended another short flight of stairs leading to the garret. They then took off their boots, and crept stealthily up stairs, treading upon the point of their toes so cautiously, that not a board creaked beneath their weight.
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