‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. There was a gallows erected, and a great mob round it—thousands of people, and all with white faces like corpses. In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. “But that’s not all. She addressed Capes as though she spoke to him alone. And now, Sir Rowland," he continued, turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door.
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