‘I knew it. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. "Can you pull him through?" was the anxious question. No doubt he has been drinking for days without eating substantially, and his heart gave out. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. A sinister thought edged in. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred.
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