With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. For the first time a definite doubt possessed him. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. ” “Sorry. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. In twenty minutes we meet in the hall, remember. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy.
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