CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club. One who steals. ” “You, then,” he said, “are ‘Alcide. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered.
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