I did not reckon upon—him. ‘If you shoot me,’ Gerald said quickly, throwing out a hand, ‘I shan’t be able to rescue you. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. In this spy theory, however, he had no faith whatsoever. ” He paused, with his eyes studying her gravely. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully.
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