Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. " "Have it, and welcome," rejoined Figg.
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