‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. Efforts were made to staunch his wounds and surgical assistance sent for. “I might have muddled for a time. ‘You cannot read my mind at all, monsieur.
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