’ ‘What for?’ asked Gerald, half laughing, as he put his hand in his pocket and brought out his elegant pistol. ‘Kill him? Oh. Ruth returned to the table. ” “Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said. It will be his interest to do so. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne.
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