At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. Practically all. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. CHAPTER IV. "Can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "I'll make it well worth your while.
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