The dangerous game

A stout, thick-set, clean-shaven Englishman, with round face, iron-gray hair, wide jaws and a pair of shrewd, dark eyes behind a pair of rimless pince-nez, was standing in the pretty lounge of the Hotel St. George, at Corfu, idly smoking a cigarette, and chatting with a good-looking, dark-haired young woman of about thirty, who was also spending some weeks on the beautiful island in the Adriatic. They had already been there nearly two months, and a friendship had sprung up between them. Bot...