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” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. ’ So pat, thought Gerald. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. I admit it. "You'll lose no time," said the thief-taker. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing.
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