He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. “I have spoken too many truths to-night. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. I waited for her at the back. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming.
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