It was only a minute or two before a jet of steam came from the tiny kettle spout.

Over this she shifted and held the gummed envelope-flap, until the mucilage softened and dissolved.

Then, holding her breath, she peeled back the flap, and from the envelope drew three soiled but carefully folded copies of the London _Daily Chronicle_.

The envelope held nothing more.
A little cry of disappointment escaped Durkin, while Frank turned the papers over in her fingers, in speechless amazement.

The very audacity of the man swept her off her feet.
It was both a warning and a challenge, grim with its suggestiveness, eloquent with careless defiance.