’ ‘A very low stratagem, Hilary,’ Gerald said, turning on his captain with mock severity. She knew she was a monster and so did they. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. His hug became an embrace. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. “A lot of these people will be going presently.
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