He could not tell whether she was English or American. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. "Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland. He had not remembered her as looking so small. It was a huge stone placed there by some workmen occupied in repairing the structure. .
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