“Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. It was all highly intriguing. It reverberated in the silence. Then enter Mr. Her father was holding her waist, smiling. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. As they're so fond of each other's society they shan't part company even on that occasion, but shall swing from the same tree. His client’s story is safe with him. Wood, meanwhile, had summoned his men-servants, and having armed them with such weapons as could be found, they proceeded to the garden, where the first object they encountered was Thames Darrell, extended on the ground, and weltering in his blood.
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