He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. It was locked. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. Perhaps in two or three weeks. But it is only fair to warn you that it isn’t expected. Give me my pistol and my dagger. . There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane.
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