“I knew that you waited at the farmhouse. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. Even this man-hunting machine was willing to grant the boy his honeymoon. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. God send the fellow did turn out to be a spy! Beckoning Roding on, Gerald crept down the corridor towards the source of the swishing he had heard.
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