CHAPTER XII. And if I hadn't been thirsty, that poor boob would have made a sure getaway and left James Boyle high and dry among the moth-balls! Oh, the old dome works once every so often. I examined the Condemned Hold myself carefully this morning, and didn't find a nail out of its place. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. Then he threw the letter at me.
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