" Upon which he drew the trigger of the pistol, which, luckily for the individual against whom it was aimed, flashed in the pan. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. ‘You speak as if you expected to meet her again, Gerald. ’ There was a chuckle in his voice. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. Nor can we.
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