He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. He had looked at it before without comprehension. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. “I am frightened now. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No.
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