Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. The light disappeared. Stanley, and paused. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. "Oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. Set the boy free. Drink the toast, Jack.
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