She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. ‘I have first some affairs to finish. And if you treat me in this way, you will have my death to answer for, as well as the deaths of my husband and child. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked.
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