For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. On one side of the handbill a print of the reigning sovereign, Anne, had been pinned over the portrait of William the Third, whose aquiline nose, keen eyes, and luxuriant wig, were just visible above the diadem of the queen. First-off, he had decided not to tell her what he had found at the bottom of that manila envelope. ” “I say, you know, you have some pluck. ” “I suppose I must have thought so. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront.
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