. ’ Roding gave a bark of derisive laughter and left the room. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. She ought to have leapt back on guard. "Bravo!" cried the thief-taker approvingly. . Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins.
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