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Fifty Candles

The glint of firelight on my pretty bracelets must have caught the eye of Barnes, for he came over and, grinning, set me free.

“Thanks,” I said gratefully.

“Temporarily, at any rate,” he spoiled it all by adding.

He returned to his seat. Mark Drew came down the stairs and entered the room on tiptoe. He, too, found a chair. Our wait seemed endless.

“I don’t think much of your scheme, Drew,” growled the detective at last. “Silly play-acting, if you ask me.”

He was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps in the dining-room. In another moment in the big door of the drawing-room Myers and Murphy appeared. Between them stood Hung Chin-chung.

“You win, Drew!” Barnes cried. He leaped to his feet, brisk, alive, delighted, and turned up the lights. “Hello, Hung—glad to see you,” he chortled.

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