The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. He got up brusquely. I took the usual way home. " "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there was silence. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. CHAPTER XV. 6.
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