Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. Earles?” he inquired. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. "I didn't think you'd been so easily fooled, Joan. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed.
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