At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. I believe it amused him. Wild had escaped. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares.
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