Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. "Wasn't he in some way connected with the Jacobite plots?" "He was," replied Thames. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. He came to the door and as he opened it a crack, she pushed herself inside urgently. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. Sheppard. I am the richest man in England. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap.
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