While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. Twenty guineas, mind. ’ He heard Roding snort, and suppressed a grin as he bowed, taking the trouble to salute Madame’s hand and cast her a provocative look as he did so. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. Naturally it all came out then. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. I have only just left Wych Street. "You are my prisoner, Jack. But her request was unheeded. “I’m sorry.
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