Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Some of your sex, I mean. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. " "It ought to be; it cost enough to get it here," said the Scot, ruefully. " "And I'm glad your worship's recognition doesn't come too late," observed the Master. A sinister thought edged in. “We have scarcely mentioned your name. You cannot do a murder and expect that you will not be punished. I can understand now these newspapers when they talk of your magnificent philanthropy.
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