“P. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. The chance had gone. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. So it would always be between herself and Manning. The rest. 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.
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