“I believe that you are right,” he said softly. Sir John stood upon the threshold. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. “I mean it. If Thames is murdered, you are his assassin.
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