Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. She was listed for the raid—she was informed it was to be a raid upon the House of Commons, though no particulars were given her—and told to go alone to 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, and not to ask any policeman to direct her. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. Not the most stringent search, conducted all morning, turned up one solitary sheet. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed. Montressor’s guests. If only this man had been her father! The world would have meant nothing; the island would have been wide enough.
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