‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. Kneebone?" "He'd better not," muttered Blueskin. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject. It was the gallows. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. He drew a little breath and stepped back. ‘En tout cas, it is not up at all, but down. ‘If you shoot me,’ Gerald said quickly, throwing out a hand, ‘I shan’t be able to rescue you. Men are always doing it, and if you set up to be a man—” “No, it’s absolutely out of the question, Mr.
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