Kneebone, Van Galgebrok, and Baptist Kettleby—all of whom greeted him cordially. If only to say goodbye. She stared. Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. He caught the smirk. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss.
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