" "When you please, Sir," said Thames, coldly. " "I am almost afraid to utter it," said Kneebone; "but Thames Darrell is murdered. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. " O'Higgins emptied an inside pocket—and purposely let the battered photograph fall to the ground. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that.
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