“Well, what is it?” “Montague Hill is recovering consciousness,” he said. " "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. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully. . The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. .
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