Manchurian Books

Miss Holland turned to St. George, the colour dyeing her face and
throat, her manner a bewildering mingling of graciousness and
hauteur.
"My aunt is right," she said tranquilly, "we never have received any
newspaper representative. Therefore, we are unfortunate never to
have met one. You were saying that we should send some one to
McDougle Street?"
St. George was aware of his heart-beats. It was all so unexpected
and so dangerous, and she was so perfectly equal to the
circumstance.
"I was asking to be allowed to go myself, Miss Holland," he said
simply, "with whoever makes the investigation."
Mrs. Hastings was looking mutely from one to another, her forehead
in horizons of wrinkles.
"I'm sure, Olivia, I think you ought to be careful what you say,"
she plaintively began. "Mr. Hastings never allowed his name to go in
any printed lists even, he was so particular. Our telephone had a
private number, and all the papers had instructions never to mention
him, even if he was murdered, unless he took down the notice
himself.


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