The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. By this action, Lucy already knew what the answer was. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. . I think you will find that his story will be believed, whatever I say; and in any case, if he is going to stay on here, I shall have to go away. ’ ‘Aye, miss,’ Kimble agreed, taking the garments, ‘but where will I find you?’ ‘I do not know. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page.
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