They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. ‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. " "And what course do you propose to pursue in reference to him?" asked Sir Rowland. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. He trembled violently. "I could have sworn I saw him enter this passage.
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