" "For whom, Sir?" inquired Charcam. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts. Oh, John. Spurling had retired for the night. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. “Isn’t there a brother to kick him?” “Mere satisfaction,” reflected Ogilvy. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said.
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