There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. "Oho!" he said. “Let’s go outside. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation.
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