The manager twisted his moustache. I cannot explain beyond that. The Chinamen raised the limp body and carried it to the hall staircase, up which they mounted laboriously. White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be sure that no one was listening. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Or shall I ask Colonel Anson for a few hints?” “For Heaven’s sake no,” she declared.
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