She searched for it for many days that stretched into weeks before she gave up. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. Yours?" The stranger hesitated. " "We waste time with this fellow," interposed Sir Cecil, "and may lose the object of our quest, who, beyond doubt, has taken refuge in this building. There is the election——” He laughed derisively. Hill closed his eyes. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. They are for serving me. . It’s well hidden, miss.
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