On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. "You've arrived sooner than I expected, Sir Rowland," observed the thief-taker. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. So it would always be between herself and Manning. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites. He fancied, indeed, that he beheld a figure spring upon the starling at the moment when the boats came in contact; but, as he could perceive no one near him, he concluded he must have been mistaken. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight.
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