CHAPTER V. The next moment, a heavy plunge told that the fugitive had been consigned to the waves. ” Her hand hung over the side of her chair nearest to him. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. ” “You disappoint me,” she said wearily. ‘Do you think I do not know? What am I doing here, do you think?’ ‘That’s just exactly what I’ve been asking myself,’ he returned. There he was, standing with a group of men who she presumed to be the other richest men in the world. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America.
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