"You can trust the wine here.
The crib is square, too.

Now, my boy, fire away.

We are alone, and no listeners here." Before Jack Blunt had put away a pint of best "beeswing" sherry, he was aware of all Alan Hawke's intentions.

His keen brain was working all its "cylinders." "Give me just five minutes to think it over, Governor," said the sparkling-eyed, dark-faced, swell cracksman.

"I know Jersey like a book.