The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr. "My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward.
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