He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. He was bewildered. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. " "Knock him on the head," thundered Sir Cecil, "or we shall have the watch upon us. “I did not recognize him,” Anna answered. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundred dollars. Well, if she survives the accident—as the blood, who styles himself Sir Cecil, fancies she may do—this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair.
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