The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it. His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. “Believe what, Michelle?” Lucy asked. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. Anna was more difficult. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed.
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