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Then, dropping lightly on his knee, he turned gaily to me, and said, "Always plunder the Egyptian, dead or alive." He rifled the spy's pockets with the easy indifference of an expert, singing as he turned them out: "The priest calls the lawyer a cheat; The lawyer beknaves the divine; And the statesman because he's so great, Thinks his trade is as honest as mine."
Each finger was fitted with a wax tip, and on the index finger, distinct and plain, was the scar shaped like a half moon. Stunned, the men and women present looked first at Mrs. Whitney's hand, then at Miller, and last at Heinrich. No one spoke, and in the heavy silence the spy's labored breathing was distinct. "The game is up," he admitted slowly.
There were more than two dozen of these photographs, some of men, some of women. On the same page with each picture was given the subject's true name, if known, also the spy's aliases, and other information. "Sara Nadiboff, twenty-nine, yet looks like twenty," muttered Hal, studying the information under the young Russian woman's photograph.
But to make his certainty more sure, and at the same time to show that he had no suspicion anyone was hiding in the room, he carried the letter over to the window, and at once he was aware of the spy's hiding-place. It was not the bed hangings, but close at his side the heavy window curtain bulged.
Then Laurent entered, bringing another prisoner, an ugly, ill-dressed little man of fifty, in a black wig, who looked like what he was, a spy of the Inquisition. Casanova soon learned the history of Soradici for this was the spy's name and when his new companion was asleep he wrote to Balbi the account of what had happened.
Sentence would have been executed as soon as Cockney came forward from the wheel had I not interposed my veto and given my reasons. It was not solicitude for the spy's life that influenced me. I, too, considered he had forfeited his right to life by his act.
However, as things stood the spy's unpopularity made his fate of little moment to anybody. The thoughts of all were centred on Stair Garland. He was handsome, young and interesting. The maidens of the town of Stranryan trigged themselves out in their best hats and dresses they donned their most becoming ribbons in order to promenade in front of the "Castle."
The boy sank to his face, and in a moment footsteps started and grew faint; Crump had darted across the path, and was running through the undergrowth up the spur. Isom rose and hurried after him; and when, panting hard, he reached the top, the spy's skulking figure was sliding from Steve's house and towards the Breathitt road; and with a hot, puzzled face, the boy went down after it.
They were serving their country, however, for all that, and that softened Dick's feeling toward them a little. True, they were performing their service in a sneaky, underhanded way that went against his grain. But it was service, and he knew that England, too, probably used spies, forced to do so for self-defence. He realized the value of the spy's work, and the courage that work required.
"Yes," answered the oldest sister in a strained, unnatural voice that struck terror to the little spy's heart, "Mr. Skinner!" "But I thought Mr. Hartman held the mortgage," Hope began in bewildered tones. "He did, dear," Gail answered. "I supposed he still held it; we paid the last interest money to him." "Then how " "Two years ago Mr. Hartman signed a note for old Mr. Lowe on the Liberty Road.
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