" "Say the word, and I'm mum," returned the executioner. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. He seemed to possess infinite reserves of patience when she refused him or purposely tried to bait and anger him, but his patience only made him seem more sinister. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared. So you are Prudence Remenham. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight.
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