ToC "How do you mean to act, Sir?" inquired Trenchard, as soon as they were left alone. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night. “Lucy! You found me! I was just about to sleep some of those rum and Cokes off like the pig I am. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. Wood—and after him came his daughter. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson's head.
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