\"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. Just an idea of mine. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. " So saying, he closed the lantern. Her heart ached; and that puzzled her. " Thames was about to reply, but a glance from Wood checked him.
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