“No, it was simple. Selling out of the Army to take up his inheritance had spelled boredom to Gerald Alderley. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. "I can do without it," muttered Jack. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand. 155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. We dine at seven-thirty. "But it wants something here. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn.
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