Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. It was the largest room in the house, which was why it had been given over to the main business of the convent as a house of God. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped.
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