” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. "Sold a good many, though. I don’t love you. Go to it; and the best of luck!" He went out. Then he opened them again suddenly, to find Courtlaw still by his side. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. He whispered in her ear.
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