"Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. Courtlaw,” she remarked. She was too late. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. Good night. Come along with us in the morning. “I may go to Hatton House later, but you needn’t wait. ’ ‘Can’t say as I’m sorry to hear you say that, missie,’ confessed the sergeant, on a relieved note, as he locked the front door of the mansion and pocketed the key.
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