Chichester, and as he stood thus fixing
Mr. Chichester with that awful, unwavering stare, a smile twisted his
pallid lips, and he spoke very softly:
"It's all r-right, Dig," said he, "the luck's with me at l-last--
we're in time--I've g-got him! Come in, D-Dig, and bring the
tools--I--I've g-got him!"
Hereupon Mr. Smivvle stepped into the room; haggard of eye he looked,
and with cheeks that showed deadly pale by contrast with the
blackness of his glossy whiskers, and beneath his arm he carried a
familiar oblong box; at sight of Barnabas he started, sighed, and
crossing hastily, set the box upon the table and caught him by the
arm:
"Stop him, Beverley--stop him!" he whispered hurriedly. "Barry's
gone mad, I think, insisted on coming here. Devil of a time getting
away, Bow Street Runners--hard behind us now. Means to fight! Stop
him, Beverley, for the love of--Ah! by God, what's this? Barry,
look--look here!" And he started back from Barnabas, staring at him
with horrified eyes. "Barry, Barry--look here!"
But Ronald Barrymaine never so much as turned his head; motionless
he stood, his lips still contorted with their drawn smile, his
burning gaze still fixed on Mr.
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