On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. The one through which she had come and Gosse had entered behind her. We shall see. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. I have only just left Wych Street. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought.
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