"Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. "What's that?" asked Wild. “One can’t tell. He understood. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. . ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. You never saw him before yesterday. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs.
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