“Thought so. " "Perhaps not," replied Jack, carelessly. It is a matter of degree. They don’t count, and I don’t care. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. How the devil did you break a picture?’ ‘Don’t be obtuse, Hilary. ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault.
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