The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. Give me the chisel, Blueskin. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t. But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. And she defies me. ‘Grace à vous, I am compelled to rescue myself. Uzun bir araştırma ve kazı çalışmasının ardından, hazineyi buldular.
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