The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. ‘But of course. Melusine saw fire in his eyes and a streak of heat rushed through her to match it. Several prisoners were taken, but the ring-leaders escaped. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. These were yarns! As he was about to slip the manuscripts into the envelope, something caught his eye: by Howard Spurlock. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. She woke up choking and belching water.
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