‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. He chuckled. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. ‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me.
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