Alarmed by the noise of the scuffle, Quilt and Sharples rushed to the assistance of their comrade. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. And if I hadn't been thirsty, that poor boob would have made a sure getaway and left James Boyle high and dry among the moth-balls! Oh, the old dome works once every so often. Epithalamy might do. ‘In this case, I will not kill him at all, even that he should have remained to wait for my letter.
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