She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. Not like my father. "I'm a peace-officer," he added, "about to arrest a notorious criminal. " "I know where she will be found, and how," rejoined Jack with a shudder.
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