"Did I hear you …" began McClintock. There was also a curious interview at a big hotel with a middle-aged, white-powdered woman, all covered with jewels and reeking of scent, who wanted a Companion. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured.
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