Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. I call upon you to assist me in the apprehension of this person. . H’m. “What do you want to go out here for, Lucy?” He 217 asked. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. It was for ever.
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