" "The best evidence would be afforded by an accomplice of the assassin," rejoined Thames, who was greatly offended by the insinuation as to his parentage. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. He doesn't resemble you at all. But his role was altered, and he was now playing the bridegroom in this remarkable drama. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname.
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