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There was a fourth story; but he never told either Ruth or McClintock about this. And now she had sent Jack away. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. I have not found the secret way into the house, for instance. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. They don’t know who did it, actually. McClintock was amused. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. Her father’s step quickened to a trot.
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