Jack, meanwhile, with Blueskin's assistance, had set the table once more upon its legs, and placing writing materials, which he took from a shelf, upon it, made Shotbolt, who was still gagged, but whose arms were for the moment unbound, sit down before them. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. "Take care, Jack," shouted Thames, who witnessed the occurrence; "that plank isn't properly balanced. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene.
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