You, sir,” he added, turning to Brendon, “had better take my card round to the police station in Werner Street and ask that Detective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. ” She roused herself from some dream at the word. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed.
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