From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. “Eight, Cavendish Square. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. " And he tossed it carelessly into the bottom of the boat. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. There was no mistaking his intentions this time.
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