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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"The Voice in the Fog"

As she reached the upper landing, some one
brushed past her, swiftly, noiselessly. With the rush of air which
followed the prowler's wake came a peculiar sickish odor. She waited
for a while. But there was no sound in all the great house.


CHAPTER XX
"The Carew cottage was entered last night," said Killigrew, "and twenty
thousand in diamonds are gone. Getting uncomfortably close. You and
your mother, Kitty, had better let me take your jewels into town
to-day."
"We have nothing out here but trinkets."
"Trinkets! Do you call that fire-opal a trinket? Better let me take
it into town, anyway. I'm Irish enough to be superstitious about
opals."
"That's nonsense."
"Maybe."
"Oh, well; if the thought of having it around makes you nervous, I'll
give it to you. The Crawfords and Mr. Forbes are coming down this
afternoon. You must be home again before dinner. Here's the opal."
She took it from around her neck.
"Crawfords? Fine!" Killigrew slipped the gem into his wallet. "I'll
bring them back on the yacht if you'll take the trouble to phone them
to meet me at the club pier.


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