But you had better know the truth to start with. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call.
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