He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. "I have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat," replied Blueskin. He has escaped. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. To Capes he was almost deferential, and she had never seen him deferential in the old time, never. "What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. She dare not risk it.
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