I'll go with you. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. . . Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed a thin crack between the door and the frame. What they do with him afterward is off my ticket, no concern of James Boyle; they can lock him up or let him go. If I am to have no other opportunity I will speak before them.
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