Annabel, I cannot believe it. “We played at love-making in Paris. "For ever!" said the thief-taker, preparing to follow. " But he searched in vain. That window there…. "You'll get nothing out of me, I can promise you, unless you show a little more civility. If you can imagine it, I survived it. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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