’ Chapter Five ‘Now then, young Jack,’ Gerald said, turning to the lad, who was sitting in the place lately vacated by his self-appointed mistress, but in a state of far less relaxation. Ennison, who had been standing with his back to the window, came suddenly a little further into the room. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. Katy had sneered at her for a moment, their eyes locking. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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