Shorn of that beard it would be handsome; not the type criminal, certainly.

A bit of natural cynicism edged into his thoughts: Kitty had seen through the beard, otherwise she would have turned the affair over to the police.
Not at all like her mother, yet equally her mother's match in beauty and intelligence.

Conover's girl, whose eyes had nearly popped out of her head at the first sight of those drum-lined walls of his.
Two-Hawks.

What was it that was trying to stir in his recollection?
Two-Hawks.

He was sure he had heard that name before.