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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Flyers"

Hooker, hoarsely. "Then this is no place
for me. Excuse me, I'll just step around the corner." As he scurried
off, he might have been heard to mutter to himself: "They've been
hounding me ever since that job in the Cosgrove cemetery. Damn 'em, I
wonder if they think I'm up here to rob the grave of one of these
jays." From which it may be suspected that Mr. Hooker had been
employed in the nefarious at one time or another.
"Detectives, Harry?" gasped Anne. "Why should there be detectives?
We're not criminals."
"You can't tell what Mrs. Thursdale may have done when she discovered-
-Hello! There's a light down the road! 'Gad, I'll hide this lantern
until we're sure." He promptly stuck the lantern inside his big
raincoat and they were in darkness again. A hundred yards to the left
a light bobbed about, reminding them of childhood's will-o'-the-wisp.
Without a word Windomshire drew her around the church, stumbling over
a discarded pew seat that stood against the wall. Groaning with pain,
he urged her to crouch down with him behind the seat. All the while he
held the umbrella manfully over her devoted head.
Voices were heard, drawing nearer and nearer--one deep and cheery, the
other high and querulous.


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