They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. "Think not to deceive me, monster. God send the fellow did turn out to be a spy! Beckoning Roding on, Gerald crept down the corridor towards the source of the swishing he had heard. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed. I killed him, Nigel. I thought one had only to take it by the throat.
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