“Mary Lucia. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. ‘Alors, I see how is this. Anyways, we gets friendly and chats each day, and yesterday I mentions about that Mr Charvill, and the maid ups and says that Frenchie and his missus is going out of town to visit him. As the secret door opened, the sounds within the house came at once to her ears: the tramping of feet above, and the hoarse voices echoing through the mansion. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed.
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