‘Must be still downstairs. . ’ ‘What?’ Roding’s glare tried Gerald’s control severely, but he pursued his theme unheeding. In fact, the reflection of the flames lighted up the ward in which Jack Sheppard was confined. But this was long ago. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No.
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