“My hand! This isn’t the place. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. But—It’s just this: who was to be hurt?” “I wish no one had to be hurt,” said Ann Veronica. Then fury claimed her and she could no longer pretend. Then suddenly he seized a new preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better part of a week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully done—and hurled it across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the cemented floor under the bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he swept his arm along a shelf of re-agents and sent them to mingle with the debris on the floor. The practice has been common for thousands of years. ‘Except Captain Roding,’ agreed the old lady, nodding at the butler. “You are really a good Samaritan,” she declared. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. "Ah! I see. \" He piped up. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light.
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