“A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. " "Two can play at that game, my blood," replied Sheppard, rising, and putting himself into a posture of defence. Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. Why did you let him have it?" "Let him have it? I can't stand at the elbow of any of the guests and regulate his or her actions. Why? Here was a curtain indeed.
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