Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. “As a matter of fact, I deserve to. O'Higgins, the American detective, and were waiting against the hour when they could assist the young man in a sudden dash for liberty. He sprung out of the driver’s side and ran to her door. . ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet.
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