“Montague Hill, the man who was found lying wounded in Bucknall Mansions late on Wednesday night in the rooms of a well-known artiste, has recovered sufficiently to make a statement to the police. And, whatever you may think, I assure you, Jack's a downright goodnatured fellow. And such slight relief as I can afford should have been offered earlier, if I'd known where you'd taken refuge after your unfortunate husband's—" "Execution, you would say, Sir," added Mrs. " "But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandable dog-talk. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. He made Hong-Kong at dusk: wet, hungry, and a bit groggy for the want of sleep; but he was in no wise discouraged. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. Some of the hotel guests can act as witnesses. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother.
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