Set on unravelling her secrets, Gerald pursues every possible clue—much to the indignation of Mademoiselle. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. I was not even sure whether it was loaded. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. The doctor and another man were by his bedside when they entered the room, and there were writing materials which had evidently been used close at hand. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. “Look after her! Why not? But you have done it all your life. And you shall have a share of the gold for yourself.
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