Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling. Now, do what you please. He would see this sister. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. “I really had not thought about it at all,” Anna answered smiling. There were three exit doors.
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