It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. "Jack Sheppard knows this house, I believe, Sir," observed Shotbolt. Impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen. ‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke. So I come suppliant. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Finally, at the exit into Regent’s Park, they ran against Miss Klegg. See paragraph 1.
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