But one must disguise oneself. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. It took my breath away. In this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. ’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more.
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