"Enough's as good as a feast. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. Charcoal. You must have figured that out by now. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. On the way home he was still thoughtful. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. O'Higgins eyed it thoughtfully. ’ He quirked an eyebrow. " "Risk, or no risk, I shall go," replied Jack. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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