It was bleeding again. Every gibbet at Tyburn and Hounslow appeared to have been plundered of its charnel spoil to enrich the adjoining cabinet, so well was it stored with skulls and bones, all purporting to be the relics of highwaymen famous in their day. He looked half at her and half at the sky. Then a surge of rage welled up. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features.
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