That’s the fact of the matter. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. ‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him. A few more minutes, and she was safe. He filled the rôle of comrade which Spurlock dared not enact, at least not utterly as he would have liked. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. He saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed. They buried him in Willesden churchyard after the robbery. " CHAPTER V.
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