"
Sam stepped out into the hall, a picturesque figure which combined the
costumes of two widely separated centuries. Modern as far as the neck,
he slipped back at that point to the Middle Ages.
"Hands up!" commanded Jane Hubbard.
"My hands _are_ up!" retorted Sam querulously, as he wrenched at
his unbecoming head-wear.
"Never mind trying to raise your hat," said Jane. "If you've lost the
combination, we'll dispense with the formalities. What we're anxious to
hear is what you're doing in the house at this time of night, and who
your pals are. Come along, my lad, make a clean breast of it and
perhaps you'll get off easier. Are you a gang?"
"Do I look like a gang?"
"If you ask me what you look like...."
"My name is Marlowe ... Samuel Marlowe...."
"Alias what?"
"Alias nothing! I say my name is Samuel Marlowe...."
An explosive roar burst from Mr. Bennett. "The scoundrel! I know him! I
forbade him the house, and...."
"And by what right did you forbid people my house, Mr.
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