‘Gabbling and muttering in a foreign tongue, that’s what I heard, sir,’ had declared the gap-toothed ancient, when he told them of the initial foray he had made, sneaking around the house in the dark. “I wish you would not do it. The room was dark and dusty. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. A riding-habit is all I have seen. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford. Deuce take it! I was very near spelling my name with one P. The Jacobite.
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