“It is very doubtful,” he said. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. "You thank Heaven for the escape of the man who did his best to get your child's neck twisted. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. Ann Veronica said she didn’t care.
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