She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. ’ She pronounced it with a French inflexion, but Gerald understood her to mean the English name he knew. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. As soon as he was certain he should be disturbed no more, Jack set to work, and with the aid of the file in less than an hour had freed himself from his fetters. Coolly and gingerly, she kissed it as it stood at its hard angle from his body. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off. Naturally he was a member of the National Honor Society and a straight A student on the Honor Roll. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. Better they should find the so-called Valade. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance.
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