She needed to protect the baby. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. ’ ‘Mercy me,’ gasped the nun. He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face.
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