It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. “I am bored,” she said abruptly. "I hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, Sir. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. Wild never was the associate of thieves. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it.
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