" "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead. . In the corner of the room were two hockey-sticks and a tennis-racket, and upon the walls Ann Veronica, by means of autotypes, had indicated her proclivities in art. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. Her steps slowed. " "There you're wrong, Mr.
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