No good at all. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. After feasting his eye upon this superb panorama, he was about to return, when he ascertained from a farmer that his nearest road to Willesden would be down a lane a little further on, to the right. With Bess's assistance he then climbed up to the window, which, as has just been stated, was secured by iron bars of great thickness crossed by a stout beam of oak. ‘I think that was what began his downfall. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. Ramage.
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