"The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. ‘But—’ ‘Nothing at all for you to worry your head over,’ said the captain, moving to try and usher her forth. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. Some one may observe us. He hugged her when he saw her in the hallway. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. General Lord Charvill disinherited him for his pains. Open it. Let us search it.
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