But her request was unheeded. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. "Go on first with the light," he said.
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