Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. ‘Go on, Gerald. "Your servant, Sir Rowland," said the stranger, ducking his head, as he advanced. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. ‘You will arrest me? For—for—’ ‘Trespass, theft and spying,’ snapped Hilary. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell.
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