"His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. It was instantly burst open, when the horrible stench that issued from it convinced them that it must be a receptacle for the murdered victims of the thief-taker. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume.
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