" "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. ’ ‘Damnation!’ Gerald burst out, crossing towards her. The mob pursued the thief-taker and his party all the way, and such missiles as could be collected were hurled at them. Spurlock has gone. They crossed the Channel in sunshine and a breeze that just ruffled the sea to glittering scales of silver. "To-morrow I will take you to him.
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