The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. "He shan't go," cried Edgeworth Bess, holding him by the other hand. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Personally, however, I doubt if—’ ‘Charvill?’ interrupted Gerald without ceremony, all his senses at once on the alert. There is worse to come.
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