. His face turned a dark crimson. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. ” “Lucy Albert, sir. ” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship.
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