"Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. " "Rollo!" There were no locks or panelled doors in the bungalow; and Rollo was aware of it. But native! She must watch out. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. She laid her hand upon his arm. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. I couldn’t help the thought. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. “Have you anything to ask the witness?” asked the helpful inspector. CHAPTER VII.
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