"Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. He turned and shouted some orders to the Kanaka crew, then nodded to the sampan's coolies, who bore upon the sweeps and headed for the Sha-mien. Pure romantic nonsense on her part. ‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald. He had reacted by pushing her away, disgust and frustration on his face. Shari regaled Lucy with soap operatic tales of boy-girl intrigues at the high school, then spoke of her aspirations for the future. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. Spurling, hastening to the rescue. CHAPTER XIV.
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