’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. The future was not so black. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol.
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