She kept her face downcast. “I’ll go,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall find you out. Sir Rowland is one of us," he added, winking at his companions, "and so was his brother-in-law, Sir Cecil Trafford. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. I know well that you are making a game with me. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. "He's about to cross the river. So long as she stood beside him, he was safe. No gentleman was ever called Thames, and Darrell is a gentleman, unless the whole story of his being found in the river is a fabrication!" "My dear, you forget—" "No, Mr.
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