” She said under her breath. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. Let’s go on climbing now. “It jars. . " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. She felt a semi-sharp object being gently impressed into her back. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. CHAPTER X.
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