Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. He is probably very wealthy. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. "Sir Cecil is no more. ‘You’d do the same. Eventually this comradeship (slightly resented by Rollo) reached a point where he could call out from the study: "Hey, Ruth!—come and tell me what you think of this. "What of that," rejoined Jonathan.
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