Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. Remember that I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, and I’m well aware of your identity. “Mind my smoking?” said Roddy. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. And he who opposes me in it shall feel the weight of my hand.
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