Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. Wild's chief janizary?" "I'd rob Mr. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. A narrow entry, formed by two low walls, communicated with the main thoroughfare; and in this passage, under the cover of a penthouse, stood Wood, with his little burthen, to whom we shall now return. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out.
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