He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. Wood thought them both remarkably plain, but Mr. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood.
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