"No, Sir, it's quite possible—more than possible. ‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. " The lad made no answer, but left the room. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. He was followed with equal celerity by Terence and the widow. "You are my prisoner. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat.
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