“It is a secret mission,” she declared. "It is plain he has been destroyed by his perfidious accomplice," rejoined Thames. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “I heard nothing,” he declared, “and my ears are good.
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