” “Not exactly,” he answered nervously. "Come along, my sly shaver. “I do not suppose he will be home till late. . ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. “Looks like old times here, I see. He must preserve it, however, as they preserved the Ark of the Covenant. But tell her this, too. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. " He departed, musing. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. "I cannot do it.
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