I wouldn't touch the stuff for all the pearls in India. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. For two years he thought himself secure; and, secretly engaged in the Jacobite schemes of the time, in which, also, Sir Cecil was deeply involved, he began to relax in his watchfulness over Aliva.
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