Perhaps it was loneliness. Easy enough. Wild had escaped. He was suddenly calm. " In less time than Hobson had mentioned, the carriage was announced. Jonathan kept his keen eye fixed upon him, as he addressed himself for a moment to the Hollander. The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. " "Perhaps not," replied Jack, carelessly. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods.
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