One of his chair coolies had witnessed the transportation of Spurlock by stretcher to the sampan in the canal. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. You don't want people to snub you later. "Can't I settle this business, Captain," muttered Blueskin, drawing a pistol.
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