Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. Grasping it firmly with both hands, he quickly wrenched if from the stones in which it was mortised, and leapt to the ground. You are not a tourist seeking adventure.
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