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Griffiths, Arthur, 1838-1908

"The Passenger from Calais"


In my great contentment at the discovery I had been wanting in
caution, and I lingered too long on forbidden ground.
"You infernal scoundrel," cried some one from the door, and once more
I felt an angry hand on my shoulder. "How come you here? Explain
yourself."
"It's all a mistake," I began, trying to make the best of it,
struggling to get free. But he still held me in a grip of iron, and it
was not until my friend Jules appeared that I got out of the enemy's
clutches.
"Here, I say!" shouted Jules vaguely. "This won't do, you know. I
shall have to lodge a complaint against you for brawling."
"Complaint, by George!" he replied, shaking his fist at me. "The boot
is on the other leg, I take it. How is it that I find this chap in my
compartment? Foraging about, I believe."
"Indeed no, Colonel Annesley," I protested, forgetting myself; and he
caught at it directly.
"Oho, so you know my name! That proves what I say. You've been messing
about and overhauling my things. I won't stand it. The man's a thief.
He will have to be locked up."
"I'm not the only thief in the car, then," I cried, for I was now mad
with him and his threats.


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