” He digested her statement as part threat and part promise. “How’s Mrs. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. Brendon felt his arm seized. "One of us has got to die," he panted. . For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. Just so had his subordinates shown their apprehension. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window.
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