‘If you shoot me,’ Gerald said quickly, throwing out a hand, ‘I shan’t be able to rescue you. But remember my warning, and play the game!" Spurlock closed his eyes again. Then he stood up and repeated it again. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. But I will not believe you. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead.
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