He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. His progress, however, was checked by loud acclamations, announcing the arrival of the Master of the Mint and his train. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. “Sir John is not at all that sort. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. Your uncle—our uncle is with him. A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinary case of manhunt. Behind Mrs. She answered slowly. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation.
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