All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town. That’s probably true. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. But they did what they could for her. "You can, of course, identify this picture as Lady Trafford's property?" pursued Jonathan, with a meaning glance, as he handed it to the knight. White gasped, and then stiffened. It had been easy to steal. He had attained the residence by his political ascension to the Duke of Herculis. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. But the Ramage affair needed clearing up, of course; it was a flaw upon that project.
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