They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. ‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up. ‘When one is penniless, one does not expect a life of ease. . ’ She edged sideways a little more, her eyes on the pistol in his hand. \"Sure. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit. Besides, there's something odd about the boy; for, though I questioned him pretty closely concerning his business, he declined answering my questions, and said he could only deliver his message to her ladyship.
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