From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. “Go on!” she commanded.
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