’ ‘What about this Leonardo fellow?’ Hilary asked, still frowning heavily. But she found an unknown lady’s discarded garments, and selected some of those that she tried on, sending Kimble off down the secret passage to load them onto the horse she had borrowed—unbeknownst to its owner—from Father Saint-Simon. The pistol, it was not loaded. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname.
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