Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin. Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. What had been happening all this time? ‘Do you tell me he has not again left his apartment?’ ‘Only to go to some party or other Monday night,’ Kimble said.
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