He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. "Damnation!" cried Kneebone. He it was who formed the grand design of a robber corporation, of which he should be the sole head and director, with the right of delivering those who concealed their booty, or refused to share it with him, to the gallows. As she had dreaded, the police officer in the car was politely waiting for John to depart, and exited the squad as soon as John turned at the Pine Crest stop sign. But it's confounded inconvenient.
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