"So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. Later he dispatched a cable announcing the escape and the sending of the letter. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. "We're too wide awake for that. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. "Do you take me for as great a villain as yourself, Sir?" said the knight, rising. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. The venturous climber gazed for a moment at the assemblage beneath, to ascertain that he was not discovered; and, having satisfied himself in this particular, he stepped out more boldly. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly.
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