CHAPTER XVIII. And I think I will indeed blow off your imbecile head. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. His food lay untouched about his plate. "You knew better than to bring her here under the circumstances. But I'll be more lenient, and content myself with merely chastising you, on condition—" "You may do as you please, master," interrupted Jack, thrusting his hand into his pocket, as if in search of the knife; "but I wouldn't advise you to lay hands on me again. “It is possible,” Courtlaw said, “that you too were deceived.
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