” “Out with it, then,” he cried, almost roughly. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. The one I have is a duplicate. But she had found it very difficult. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain. But his grief was of short duration. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained.
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