"Thank Heaven!" she gasped. " "And Thames Darrell would do anything for you, Jack," replied a blithe voice. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door.
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