CHAPTER X. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. What is there?” “Tristan. Good-bye, aunt. ” He ducked out. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. ” “And no one else—has a key?” “I believe,” she said, “that that man must have one. ” She shivered. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother.
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