Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork. . ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. “Like what, Lucy?” She saw the panic threaten to overtake him. I don’t know. But some little distance behind him, someone had come out from the shadow of the building and, seeing the Frenchman reappear, darted back again as quickly.
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