Perhaps she would have to charge this man and appear in a police-court next day. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. " The little girl's countenance fell. \" She handed the ticket seller, a boy that looked to be all of eighteen years old, murder money that she had stolen from Dawn Plote's dead son, five dollars. " "Then, we'll lose no more time," returned Jack. It will be his interest to do so. .
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