" "Ah," said Spurlock; "that kind of a man. What about them?” He called a hansom. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. We already had a place to mislay blame. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. ‘We needn’t murder Lucia. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips.
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