I simply can't explain why I who, as a roadman, had looked into two pairs of eyes, and as Ned Ainslie into another pair, why I, who have a good memory and reasonable powers of observation, could find no satisfaction.

They seemed exactly what they professed to be, and I could not have sworn to one of them.
There in that pleasant dining-room, with etchings on the walls, and a picture of an old lady in a bib above the mantelpiece, I could see nothing to connect them with the moorland desperadoes.

There was a silver cigarette-box beside me, and I saw that it had been won by Percival Appleton, Esq., of the St Bede's Club, in a golf tournament.
I had to keep a firm hold of Peter Pienaar to prevent myself bolting out of that house.
'Well,' said the old man politely, 'are you reassured by your scrutiny, Sir ?' I couldn't find a word.
'I hope you'll find it consistent with your duty to drop this ridiculous business.

I make no complaint, but you'll see how annoying it must be to respectable people.' I shook my head.
'O Lord,' said the young man.

'This is a bit too thick!' 'Do you propose to march us off to the police station ?' asked the plump one.