“There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. Why must her old nurse discover her precisely at this moment? ‘What are you at now, may I ask?’ Martha glared at the footman. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. Sheppard, with startling eagerness. ‘Move, you. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest.
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