" "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss. Mr. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket.
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