Fix typos

src/epub/text/chapter-12.xhtml

@@ -182,7 +182,7 @@
 			<p>“Certain.”</p>
 			<p>“You don’t think the bank had any knowledge of his real name? Or anybody in the bank or⁠—”</p>
 			<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p>
-			<p>“How can I know? Is it likely, Tom?</p>
+			<p>“How can I know? Is it likely, Tom?”</p>
 			<p>“No. I suppose it’s not likely. It would have been more comfortable to know. … Here we are. Get out first, and walk straight in. Move smartly.”</p>
 			<p>He remained behind, and paid the cabman out of his own loose silver. The programme traced by his minute foresight was carried out. When <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Verloc, with her ticket for <abbr>St.</abbr> Malo in her hand, entered the ladies’ waiting-room, Comrade Ossipon walked into the bar, and in seven minutes absorbed three goes of hot brandy and water.</p>
 			<p>“Trying to drive out a cold,” he explained to the barmaid, with a friendly nod and a grimacing smile. Then he came out, bringing out from that festive interlude the face of a man who had drunk at the very Fountain of Sorrow. He raised his eyes to the clock. It was time. He waited.</p>

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@@ -57,7 +57,7 @@
 			<p>It was very well said, without scorn, with an almost austere quietness.</p>
 			<p>“Doubtless,” was the answer; “but there’s no time like the present, believe me. For a man of real convictions this is a fine opportunity of self-sacrifice. You may not find another so favourable, so humane. There isn’t even a cat near us, and these condemned old houses would make a good heap of bricks where you stand. You’ll never get me at so little cost to life and property, which you are paid to protect.”</p>
 			<p>“You don’t know who you’re speaking to,” said Chief Inspector Heat firmly. “If I were to lay my hands on you now I would be no better than yourself.”</p>
-			<p>“Ah! The game!’</p>
+			<p>“Ah! The game!”</p>
 			<p>“You may be sure our side will win in the end. It may yet be necessary to make people believe that some of you ought to be shot at sight like mad dogs. Then that will be the game. But I’ll be damned if I know what yours is. I don’t believe you know yourselves. You’ll never get anything by it.”</p>
 			<p>“Meantime it’s you who get something from it⁠—so far. And you get it easily, too. I won’t speak of your salary, but haven’t you made your name simply by not understanding what we are after?”</p>
 			<p>“What are you after, then?” asked Chief Inspector Heat, with scornful haste, like a man in a hurry who perceives he is wasting his time.</p>

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@@ -66,7 +66,7 @@
 			<p>His countenance had that look of grave, overbearing indifference once well known and much dreaded by the better sort of thieves. Chief Inspector Heat, though what is called a man, was not a smiling animal. But his inward state was that of satisfaction at the passively receptive attitude of the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured gently:</p>
 			<p>“And you really think that the investigation should be made in that direction?”</p>
 			<p>“I do, sir.”</p>
-			<p>“Quite convinced?</p>
+			<p>“Quite convinced?”</p>
 			<p>“I am, sir. That’s the true line for us to take.”</p>
 			<p>The Assistant Commissioner withdrew the support of his hand from his reclining head with a suddenness that, considering his languid attitude, seemed to menace his whole person with collapse. But, on the contrary, he sat up, extremely alert, behind the great writing-table on which his hand had fallen with the sound of a sharp blow.</p>
 			<p>“What I want to know is what put it out of your head till now.”</p>