But I've an idea as well as you, grounded in some measure upon Sheppard's story. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. Perhaps she did love research for its own sake, she was certainly gifted enough. Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed. He has a way of sitting on people. He winced from the wasp-like sting. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head.
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