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The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. A nurse was at the other end of the room. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. " "You look pretty fit. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. His figure was slight, but well-built; and, in stature he did not exceed five feet four.
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