The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. She was nearly dead. ‘That piece of information seemed to interest him very much. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes.
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