"What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. Henceforth, I utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me. And think things out. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. And, if you'll give me such a smack of your sweet lips, Miss, as you've just given Thames, I'll take myself off in less than no time. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland.
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