” He went to the window and fidgeted with the blind, looking out to where the tree-tops of Regent’s Park showed distantly over the houses. She might even forgive him. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. Not I. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. Your purpose is done. We must wave our hands at the blue hills far away there and go back to London and work. Overcome by his affliction, Mr. . He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity.
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