” Courtlaw laid his hand upon Ennison’s shoulder. It must be the dawn creeping in. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder.
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