David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. What more could any reasonable man— especially a watchman—desire? Besides, the Marquis, is a devilish fine fellow, and a particular friend of mine. What more was to be done? Frith’s investigations had proved fruitful, and the man was now keeping an eye on Valade. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper.
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