” He adjusted his glasses on his nose. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs.
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