CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. F. They don’t now. Smith's melody had subsided. Good night. His face warm, Captain Roding glared them into silence, and firmly marched his captive off down Piccadilly, heading for Stratton Street where the town house of the Alderley family was situated. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. Playing became a way of escape. But, answer me. McClintock will be tuning up the piano to-day. The danger or difficulty of an exploit never appalled him. I had no curiosity of that kind.
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