It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. ” She breathed relief. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. ” “Poor old ring!” said Ann Veronica. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. “Your coffee’s too good to refuse.
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