"Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable. "There is a man in this room who seeks my life. They were sitting alone, Lucy. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. I’m not sure if Janine cared. \" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel.
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