From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen.
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