The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. “Great!” Cathy squealed. She looked paler than ever; but her countenance, though bewildered, did not exhibit the alarm which might naturally have been anticipated from the strange and perplexing scene presented to her view. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip.
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