He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape. Then she sang. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found.
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