" "Rely on me," rejoined Kneebone. Some of the hotel guests can act as witnesses. Get you gone. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. For me that is all over and done with. “This,” he said, and then: “No! Is this sweeter? Very well. ” “So it would have been at the English Embassy,” Courtlaw answered, “but the place to which you went was not the English Embassy. " "I, Sir!—I swear——" "Tush!" interrupted Jonathan, harshly. I’ll show it to you later. CHAPTER XX.
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