See paragraph 1. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his mustache. "Let me look at the paper. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Sebastian crouched on the floor with a single dead victim, a young highwayman. I've been hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!" She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in her wisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end—in the veranda chair.
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