He smiled inwardly. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. "And now let's see who'll dare to oppose me. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. Sepulchre's bell is for ever ringing in my ears—oh!" "If that's the case," observed Wood, "I'm surprised you should like to have such a frightful picture constantly in view as that over the chimney-piece.
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