The one problem was that it didn’t fly. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. She was shocked. . “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. "You are my prisoner, Jack. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. She aimed directly at Rhea’s head.
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