The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. He had scarcely completed his toilet, when he was startled by a noise at the door, and heard his own name pronounced in no friendly accents. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. The Closing Scene. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. Consent to become my wife, and do not compel me to have recourse to violence to effect my purpose, and I will spare your son. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg.
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