[SPAM] between two and three in the morning, jus

 M. Charolais. "No; that's a thirty to forty horse-power. It belongs to
me. But if your son really loves rushing hills, as you say, we have a
hundred horse-power car which my father wants to get rid of. Wait;
where's the photograph of it, Sonia? It ought to be here somewhere." The
two girls rose, went to a table set against the wall beyond the window,
and began turning over the papers with which it was loaded in the search
for the photograph. They had barely turned their backs, when the hand of
young Charolais shot out as swiftly as the tongue of a lizard catching a
fly, closed round the silver statuette on the top of the cabinet beside
him, and flashed it into his jacket pocket. Charolais was watching the
two girls; one would have said that he had eyes for nothing else, yet,
without moving a muscle of his face, set in its perpetual beaming smile,
he hissed in an angry whisper, "Drop it, you idiot! Put it back!" The
young man scowled askance at him. "Curse you! Put it back!" hissed
Charolais

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