She picked up the hand cannon. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. For the first time a definite doubt possessed him. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. A white man takes his life in his hands. " "Vy don't you talk to your partner, or Saint Giles, if you vant conversation, Aaron?" asked Jack, slyly. .
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