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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"The Voice in the Fog"

I had hoped that the unfortunate devil would have had
sense to remain abroad."
"Then you knew he was over there?"--quickly. "See him?"
"No. I shall never feel anything but sorry for him. You can not live
with a man as I did, for ten years, and not regret his misstep."
"Oh, I understand your side. But that man was a born crook, an' th'
cleverest I ever run up against. For all you know, he may have been
back of a lot o' tricks Central never got hold of. I'll bet that each
time that you went over with him, he took loot an' disposed of it. I
may be pig-headed sometimes, but I'm dead sure o' this. Wait some day
an' see. Say, take a whiff o' this an' tell me what y' think it is."
Haggerty produced the handkerchief.
"I don't smell anything," said Crawford.
Haggerty seized the handkerchief and sniffed, gently, then violently.
All he could smell was reminiscent of washtubs. The mysterious odor
was gone.


CHAPTER XIV
This is not a story of the Maharajah's emeralds; only a knot in the
landing-net of which I have already spoken.


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