" "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. " "Of course," rejoined Quilt, maliciously; "every thief is so. ‘May I, indeed? I’ll take you up on that. Wood's house at Dollis Hill on Tuesday'—that's two days ago,—'hasn't been heard of since. ‘I broke in.
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