"Here are paper, ink, and pen."
Rosmore watched him as he wrote.
"Will that suffice?" Marriott asked.
"It is worded exactly as I would have it."
"So Mistress Lanison--"
"Did we not say no further questions?" asked Rosmore, smiling. "What
should you say if I made a match between her and this notorious
highwayman, Gilbert Crosby?"
"You must catch him first."
"Should you see him in Dorchester, you will do me a service by having
him arrested. With this paper I can have him released at a convenient
time. You are going? There is still wine in the bottle."
"Just enough for you to drink to the success of your night's work," said
Marriott savagely.
"And to your health," Rosmore answered as he crossed the room with his
guest.
As the door was closed, Harriet Payne took hold of the curtain to draw
it aside, but paused in the act of doing so. Her eyes, wide open and
fixed, stared at the curtains which hung on the opposite wall across the
window. A hand, a man's hand, grasped them. Then they parted silently,
and fell together again, slowly and silently.
Rosmore did not wish to be disturbed again, but the lock was stiff and
the key difficult to withdraw.
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