CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. Pure luck! But for that bottle of whisky, nobody in the Hong-Kong Hotel would have been able to identify the photograph; and at this hour James Boyle O'Higgins would have been on the way to Yokohama, and the trail lost for ever. And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. You called yourself a murderess. . But she veiled her feelings.
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