‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket.
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