. Like most officers, he’d had it especially made, for a man who loved danger had need of a precision instrument of defence. But whither The Tigress was bound or who the owner was lay beyond the reach of Ah Cum's deductions. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate.
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