From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. Certainly he could not move now other than to announce the fact that he had found his man.
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