“You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. She lay still for a long time, and her mind resumed at a more tolerable pace. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors.
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