"To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. " "A young fellow who thinks he's in love, when he has only been reading too much. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. Just because she was sorry for that young fool! "Uh-huh," he repeated, rising and bowing as he passed Ruth's table. They will say that it was murder. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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