Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. Stanley. And Mr. Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. Wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape. "I was just going," said Thames. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened.
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