The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. " CHAPTER XV. Now you can understand why I have been obliged to——” “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Courtlaw interrupted. We’ll make short work of them.
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