"What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. The Law was around the corner and down the narrow hall, puffing a Virginia Slims Menthol in frantic sips, teetering uncomfortably out of an emergency exit door. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. " "You have made no such arrangements as will compromise me, I hope, Sir Rowland?" said Wild, hastily. " "He'll be hanged nevertheless," replied the Hollander, giving his collar an ugly jerk.
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