“I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. He had often read about it, and once he had incorporated it in a story, that invisible force which sent men to prison and to the gallows, when a tongue controlled would have meant liberty indefinite. I do not wish for you to see me feed. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you.
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