"Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan. But what did he know beyond these facts? Nothing, clearly. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement.
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