The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. It was an impulse. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. On your own. Or did he? Perhaps he had found another. "Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. Easy enough to look as if one rides away.
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