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‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. “What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said. ” “She liked everything. “This has almost killed your father. He had this thing for his twin daughters. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. Sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window. I was quite as much annoyed as you were to see Mr.
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