He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. ‘Yes, miss. ’ Captain Roding looked frowningly from one to the other. O'Higgins was all that the doctor had imagined a detective to be: a bulky policeman in civilian clothes. They were silent for a time. CHAPTER XVIII.
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