"Do you still refuse to make one!" "I have made one," replied Lady Trafford. ” “Are you in a hurry,” she asked carelessly. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. “Child!” he cried. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. Blueskin will take care of the horses, and I'll go with you. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. It would be the culmination of her plan.
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