It was the evening of the next day. Frank Stanhope lay on a couch in a darkened room, a black bandage across his eyes. Erie Landon sat beside him, holding his hand. The pungent odor of ether hung in the air. Out in the dining room old Doctor Allworth, from Bridgetown, was discussing with the specialist things known only to those men of science.,
He unpropped the root-house door and threw it open. Maurice hesitated on the threshold, peering into the darkness.,
"Hould on now!" Harry swayed up from the log, the grin gone from his face. "Ut's little did I think that Billy Wilson would be misunderstandin' me," he said, reproachfully. "Not wan article that the box contained has been teched by me. A small bit av the whisky have I took, because it was no more than sufficient reward fer me findin' the stuff, but the box is safe and safe ut wull be returned to Spencer whin the proper time comes.".
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