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Zanti could not have been right about his lack of humour. Peter walked up to his father, and his father caught him by the throat. Mr. Westcott was still, in spite of recent excesses, sufficiently strong. "I very much want to choke you," he said. Peter, however, was stronger. His father dropped the hold of his throat, and had him, by the waist, but his hands slipped amongst his clothes.
Zanti during this period that gentleman was, he was informed, away on business and it was characteristic of him that he asked Zachary Tan no questions whether of the mysterious bookshop, of London generally, or of any possible news about Stephen, the latter a secret that he was convinced the dark little curiosity shop somewhere contained.
He knew with some strange knowledge who that old acquaintance was ... he felt no surprise when he saw in the little back room, laughing with all his white teeth shining in a row, the stout and cheerful figure of Mr. Emilio Zanti. Peter was a very different person now from that little boy who had once followed Stephen's broad figure into that little green room and stared at Mr.
It was such a long time now since any one had shown any interest in him or expressed any pleasure at the sight of him that he was foolishly moved by Mr. Zanti's warmth. He blushed and stammered something but his eyes were shining and his lip trembling. Mr. Zanti fixed his gaze on the boy. "Oh! but you have grown yes, indeed.
Zachary rose and came forward smiling. "Ah, Mr. Brant, delighted to see you, I'm sure. Brought the boy with you? Excellent, excellent. Mr. Bannister and Mr. Emilio Zanti, a friend of mine from London."
Zanti was entirely outside Clare's range of possible persons. For the first time, almost with a secret start of apprehension, he knew that there were things that she did not understand. "I'm afraid," he said, "that my wife is dressing. But when you come back you shall meet of course that will be delightful." And then he went on "But I simply can't tell you how splendid it is to look at you again.
The head removed itself from the counter and Peter saw that it belonged to a small man with a hump who came forward to Mr. Zanti very humbly. "Ah, Gottfried," said Zanti, "you well?" "Very, sir," answered the little man, bowing a little and smiling; his voice was guttural with a very slight accent. "This is Mr. Peter Westcott. 'E will work here and 'elp you with ze books.
Peter, standing in the middle of the room, looked at them all and understood at last amongst whom he had been working these seven years. They were murderers, the lot of them all of them Gottfried, Zanti ... Stephen Oh God! Stephen! He understood now for what they had been waiting. He turned sick at the sudden realisation of it. It did not, at first, seem to touch himself in any way.
He went once or twice to Zachary Tan's shop, but he did not see Mr. Zanti again nor any one who spoke of London. He had not, however, forgotten Mr. Zanti's talk of looking-glasses. As he grew and his mind distinguished more clearly between fact and fancy, he saw that it was foolish to suppose that one saw anything in looking-glasses but the immediate view.
Zanti, enormous, smiling from ear to ear, engulfed in a great coat from which his huge head, buffeted by wind and rain his red cheeks, his rosy nose, his sparkling eyes stood out like some strange and cheerful flower filled the doorway. He enfolded Peter in his arms, pressed him against very wet garments, kissed him on both cheeks and burst into a torrent of explanation.
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