” He said. " Sheppard started to his feet. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story. Mr. ‘The cat’s foot, Hilary. ” For a moment or two he did not speak. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday.
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