McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. ‘Would you like me to enquire for your mystery lady, Gerald? I know the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme quite well. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. Let me go, Sir.
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