As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. But that possibility had been anticipated. ‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing. . Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. ‘Jacques?’ she called. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. But, this sad affair disposed of, I will not rest till I have avenged my murdered parents.
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