"This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll. You are a detective?" "Yes. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. " At this juncture, the door was flung open, and Charcam entered, dragging in Thames, whom he held by the collar, and who struggled in vain to free himself from the grasp imposed upon him.
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