The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. Wood, meanwhile, had summoned his men-servants, and having armed them with such weapons as could be found, they proceeded to the garden, where the first object they encountered was Thames Darrell, extended on the ground, and weltering in his blood. Occasionally he relit his pipe. "These writer chaps are queer birds. Run along while I rig up and get the part in my hair straight. ’ ‘Ah, non?’ Her voice was neutral. ‘Now then, girl. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. The day was sunny and pleasant, devoid of chill winds.
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